


Intrinsic Gray

by BlackMajjicDuchess



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art, Identity Issues, Insomnia, Inspiration, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slash, True Love, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-12 10:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMajjicDuchess/pseuds/BlackMajjicDuchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tenzō’s gift is desecrated by the touch of the enemy. In the aftermath of the war, Tenzō suffers in silence, ignored and forgotten, slowly falling apart, haunted by the darkest moments of his captivity. </p><p>Taking some life advice a step further than probably intended, Kakashi passes the Hat and retires from public life. But Kakashi's empty apartment isn't as comfortable as he remembered. </p><p>Their paths have been... difficult. Fortunately, they find the strength they didn't know they had to write their own ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jeremiah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamingDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingDragon/gifts).



> Eigengrau (German: "intrinsic gray" / literally: "own grey"), also called Eigenlicht ("intrinsic light"), dark light, or brain gray, is a term for the uniform dark gray background that many people report seeing in the absence of light. Nowadays the phenomenon is more commonly referred to as "visual noise" or "background adaptation." Eigengrau is perceived as lighter than a black object in normal lighting conditions, because contrast is more important to the visual system than absolute brightness.  
> \---  
> My friends and my fans are my everything. So here I go writing slash again. 
> 
> My dearest writing friend DreamingDragon flattered me into writing this. She's discontent with the endings Kakashi and Tenzō receive in the manga and ships them hard for their shared darkness and torment. 
> 
> In a conversation with her, she said,
> 
> "There are stories I wish to read, stories that will move me, fill that void. I want to see Kakashi suffer and win out in the end. I want to see him struggle yet vanquish his demons. I want a story that I have never found before. And to be honest, I think you are the only one that can write that. I long to see Tenzo and Kashi fight their way through pain and suffering to find peace. You can write that. And you will make it great."
> 
> Without DreamingDragon, I would never have finished my first original novel. She and I are a true team. Without her you wouldn't have a lot of what I write. Dragon wants slash, she gets slash. 
> 
> I've been a bit weepy and sentimental. Partly because I've been writing a lot of doomed romance lately. Partly because my own life is in a fluctuating state of chaos. Now, in this moment, I've realized exactly how much my friends mean to me, and how uninspired I am without their support. So with a full heart, in the spirit of Valentine's Day, I am posting this for the love of my friend. 
> 
> It's a story written with a full heart. A slow burn romance about finding happiness where you might least expect it, but only after doggedly dragging yourself out of a dark and empty place. It is only after we learn to love ourselves that we can find love with another. 
> 
> And also, in true Twin Dragons fashion, I'm posting a Starsailor song for every chapter. Because we love Starsailor and the tone always seems so appropriate. And I wrote this listening to them.
> 
> EDIT: I'm naming the chapters for the songs I'm soundtracking this with. :)

 

* * *

  _No no no no no,_  Tenzō wanted to say. Tried to say, but couldn’t. He could no longer feel the sharp fangs embedded deep in the meat of his hand, but he could feel the acid burn of poison. It was a bright wash of agony, white hot and gaining power. Paralyzed. Couldn’t even control his own movements. Couldn’t form words. Couldn’t even open his lips to _try_. Captured and incapacitated, now forced to listen, meekly and silently, to the dastardly things they planned to do with his body.

Failed.

The last thing he saw before his vision winked out was the reptilian grin of a person that had once been Kabuto. He called himself a ‘dragon’ now, but in truth he was just a scientific abomination. Just another person as lost as Tenzō himself, seeking the best identity he could imagine. Not at all unlike himself in that respect. Yet Kabuto’s design was repugnant and artificial.  

Tenzō could have done better. What would he have imagined for himself, if he could? _I don’t know,_ he realized. His spirits sank when the miniscule significance of his answer sank in. _Soon enough, it won’t matter anymore. I’ll die known to the world as Yamato and leave everyone behind. They’ll remember me by a name that isn’t even mine. And for failing._

Shameful. Tenzō was one of the most successful Anbu captains in history. Yet there he was, trussed up by a teenager with an identity crisis, immobilized by fabricated snake venom.

He couldn’t feel what they were doing with him, but he could hear the liquid sound of cells shifting, his body rearranging itself, fusing with cork. There was a shape hovering over him, but the black and grey blurry spots obscuring his vision kept him from knowing what it was. His mind was fogging over. Panic rooted. For that flash of an instant, he was certain he was dying. If his consciousness slipped, he’d be gone forever.

 _No no no no no,_ his mind screamed, fighting with what little he had left. His heart dropped to his stomach. He had zero control. There was no hope. Entirely at the mercy of the enemy, and about to be used to fuel whatever nefarious plan they had in motion, and all because of the Mokuton, the Wood Style.

 _Always_ because of that. His most precious gift. His fatal curse.

With a sigh of resignation that stagnated in paralyzed lungs, he succumbed to the blackness and knew nothing else.

* * *

_Kakashi, I’m sorry._

* * *

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, a thousand identities warred for dominance. _Who am I?_ He wondered, lost in a dark sea of shadows without a star to set his compass. He was the barest spark of consciousness in a shrinking, black corner of somewhere. _What am I?_ His own voice didn’t have a sound. It was only a whispered thought, carried along on the currents of blank space.

Out of the inky blackness, a tiny dab of green broke. _Green_ , he mused. _It’s a color. An important one._ He felt something that might have been happiness to know this scrap of knowledge. The green smudge expanded, stretched and curled like a line of scripture. He watched it, fascinated, blown away by the simple beauty of it. It glowed faintly, lit from somewhere, though there didn’t seem to be a light source. It unfurled and stretched out, like a growing thing.

 _Yes_! His mind supplied. _That’s what it is!_ His consciousness reached for it, and he saw what must have been his hands. _Is this me?_  he wondered, pausing to stare at the fingers. Four fingers, one thumb, broad pale palms. _These are mine?_ He wiggled the fingertips, noting with satisfaction how they responded to his command. He closed and opened them, pleased. _These are mine, and so is that_. He reached out again, sliding his fingers beneath the new leaves of the plant in the darkness. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he knew of a certainty. It was his and he loved it, so he brought it close to protect it from whatever threats might lurk in the suffocating shadows around them.

The awareness that he was human filtered in slowly. It frightened him, knowing that he was real, yet trapped. He blinked— _I have eyes_ —and looked around for an exit. There wasn’t one. Where he was was nowhere. There was no up, down, or around. There was only an endless ocean of nothing. No solid ground to stand upon. Just him and his beautiful plant, all his own.

When the beginning of the question of his name began to form, his mind was assaulted with a list. Hashirama. Shodaime. Clone. Experiment. Last. Survivor. Anbu. Kinoe. Tenzō. Yamato. Taichou. Kakashi. Senpai. A dozen others. _Which one is me?_ With his hesitation, the words and sounds assailed him, a kanji storm, and he panicked, curling protectively around the fragile green shoot he _must have_ made. _Mine_.

 _Hashirama_.

It was the one word among them all that seemed most important. Tentatively, he reached for it. The sense of the word filtered in, diffusing through his skin, deep into his body, pervading his senses and his mind. It distributed its essence evenly throughout, like a cloth wicking up a puddle of water. But when it was completely his, it _felt_ all wrong. _No_ , he decided. _This is not me._ He rejected it, pushed against the force. Banished _Hashirama_. But it would not go. It clung to him like a parasite, refusing to be released.

 _Hashirama_.

 _No!_ His mind shouted back, scared of this thing that didn’t belong that wouldn’t leave. _No, I’m not! I’m—I’m—I’m—_ He sank to his knees and hit more nothing, accidentally crushing the delicate leaves he’d tried so hard to save in a suddenly clenched fist. His heart constricted, realizing what he’d done. _Who am I?_  he wondered again, _if not Hashirama?_ His fingers opened slowly, revealing the abused new life there, dark with the leak of cell matter, crinkled past repair. A cold tear trickled down his face.

How could he have forgotten so much?

The darkness kept telling him he was the name that wasn’t his. Somehow, he understood that the confusion was frighteningly real, as if he’d struggled on this particular point before in a time long past. And somehow, he also comprehended that he’d had trouble settling on a different name before, too. Maybe he didn’t _have_ a real name.

Maybe this nothing land was his reality.

The darkness was encroaching again, reaching for the damaged plant cradled in his hands. Broken and dying it may be, but the plant at least was definitely his, and he wasn’t going to let anything take it away. His fingers caged around it, minding its fragility. He hunched into a tight little ball around it and let the evil smog take him. It was dark in the center of his human cocoon, but the fitful glow of the leaves gave him the tiniest bit of comfort.

 _We’ll get through it together_ , he promised.

Around them, a quiet whistle like wind rose. As it came closer, it grew into an empty roar, and whoever he was, he knew that the end was coming for them both. _We’ll make it. We can._

The shadow swallowed them whole. Invisible needles stabbed him all over. He gritted his teeth and hissed with pain. When the needles stopped stinging, whatever energy he had started bleeding out. He hadn’t known how alive he really was until his life began draining out from a billion tiny pores, draining into the nothing and shrinking his consciousness with it. The name he’d found in the middle of it all started to fade. The memory of eyes and humanity and the other names went, too. It was just him—a spark of awareness, nothing more—and this tiny plant.

 _Don’t you leave me, too,_ he begged, fighting the sucking pressure at his heart and soul. The slow drip of his life force hurt like all the fires of hell, but not as much as the ache in his soul, the something missing he couldn’t find. The glowing leaves darkened, injured by his own careless infraction. He wanted to scream. _Don’t you dare leave me here alone!_

The light grew weaker.

And weaker.

Weaker.

Panic.

Dark.


	2. Tie Up My Hands

 

 

* * *

 

A sensation not unlike waking bloomed in his mind, except that everything was still dark and unformed. There was pressure all around, compressing his thoughts and what might have been his own corporeal form. Somewhere at the fringe of madness was a voice, garbled as if underwater, but wistfully amused. He strained toward it. It was probably not a good thing, but it was a direction. Perhaps it led out.

Louder and louder it grew in volume, and with it stretched his consciousness.

“Ahh, it’s almost as if I am a real boy! How wonderful!” Male. Young-ish. For a moment, he wondered if it was his own voice, but knew it to be false immediately.

 _Yamato_ , his mind struck out suddenly, as if just hearing another being talk was enough to jar his memory. _That’s who I am. Yamato-taichou._ Desperately, he clawed closer to the voice, starved for more knowledge.

_Shinobi._

_Konoha._

_War._

Frantically towards what he _hoped_ was  _out_ he scrambled. And then there was light, an answered prayer. It was distant, and in an upward direction. The darkness around him suddenly possessed definite shape, a finite direction. He was inside it. Up was out, toward the light. He reached, and with the stretch of his fingers, he realized that _Yamato-taichou_ wasn’t quite right either.

_Anbu._

_Codename._

His thoughts paused, tangled and confused. There was a word there at the tip of his tongue. He knew some of it, had a vague idea of the syllables and sound. Whatever the word was, it was the closest thing he had to a name, and he would have it right now. With renewed spirit, he charged toward the light. The aperture was closing, slowly, like a flower blooming in reverse.

The voice outside his darkness laughed, wicked mockery. “Ahahaha! That tickles!”

The darkness squeezed tighter. It was then that he knew he _did_ have a corporeal form. Wherever he was, his body was caught and was being slowly crushed.

There was a loud knock that echoed in the blackness. Yamato-taichou paused, listening. It was an odd sound, hollow and empty. “Hey, why is he waking up?” the voice complained. “You said he was as good as dead!”

There was another voice, too muffled to be heard. Far away.

The voice lowered to an excited whisper. “Maybe he has an answer for my question. Hey, Yamato-taichou! What does it feel like—”

The further voice snapped something angrily, and the question died in the dark. Yamato’s talking container whined wordlessly.

Meanwhile, the light was barely a pinprick. He reached, straining against the vicelike grip around his ribs. His captor—because he understood, then, that that is what he was—laughed again. Tickled, perhaps, as he’d said. Yamato took advantage of the distraction and surged toward it.

And just as he was about to make it, fingers scraping the rays of light themselves, the opening closed forever and plunged him back into the dark. But not before he’d gained something profoundly precious, snatched back in that fraction of a second.

_Tenzō. That’s my name._

Content even in his imprisonment, he gathered that single word closely, nurturing it as he had a vaguely remembered plant some time ago, like a dream just barely remembered. _Tenzō, Tenzō, Tenzō._ Over and over he spoke it within his mind, committing it to memory, that he might never forget it again.

The more he spoke it, the more he recalled of the truth of his world. Outside his dark, suffocating prison, a war was just beginning. He, Tenzō, known to many as Yamato-taichou—one of his many, _many_ codenames—had been captured, to his shame. A lost shinobi named Kabuto had dragged him here, where they’d drained off his life energy to feed an army of thousands of cloned soldiers, for Yamato-taichou and the fakes shared common ancestry.

It was that name he’d been fed in the darkness. _Hashirama_. He and the army of clones were experiments derived from the genetics of the Shodaime Hokage. The difference between them was that Tenzō was alive, flesh and blood. The Shodaime Hokage was already generations dead, and the clones were… rudimentary artificial flesh, like clay, or liquid timber. They were an insult to the superior genetics they boasted.

As the memories came drifting back, he seethed. He’d always been used this way. Poked and prodded and experimented upon, to the point where he hardly even noticed a needlestick anymore. His arms and neck still bore the faint scars from all of the IVs and ‘sample draws.’ Spinal taps. Cell cultures. He’d endured it then, too starved for love and too quick to trust to question it. When they told him it was for his own good, told him it would make him better—even though he _knew_ he wasn’t sick—he believed it. He was only a child, then. It wasn’t until much, much later that he was able to see what was really going on. Hindsight is 20/20, it’s said. And so it was.

He’d fallen in love with his ability, though. It was easy to see why Konoha had been so desperate for the Mokuton. There was something special about any kekkei-genkai, true, and Tenzō had never experienced one beyond his own. But still, he couldn’t imagine how anything could be as lovely as watching a new leaf shiver to feel a breeze for the first time, and all because _he_ had moulded the chakra that gave it life. Those first exploratory days were priceless, his most cherished memories. No matter where this magic came from—no matter the evil, clinical circumstances that had given him the Mokuton—it was the only possession in the world that was solely _his_ , that could never be taken from him, never copied. And that, proven by the blood of countless others, their names never logged. He was the only one blessed to carry it.

And Hashirama, godlike being that he was, was _dead_ , now.

Tenzō _was_ grateful for the Mokuton. It made him special and indispensable. Yes, only he was compatible with the world’s most wonderful kekkei-genkai. Only he could coax fragile green life out of _nothing_. Only he could suppress the overwhelming power of a rampaging tailed beast. Only Tenzō possessed this power, and the technology to produce such an anomaly again was so heinous that it had been destroyed. It was solely Tenzō who had survived the mad science that gave him this. His production had been disgusting and cruel, but it had given him the most _wonderful_ gift.

And now the enemy was using it.

He felt it, outside the hollow shell of his prison. He fully comprehended, now, what was happening out there. He was being used as a source of Mokuton energy. His life had been drained to empower the enemy clones, just as his strength was now leeched to strengthen the creature that made up this shell.

The moment the light winked out, Tenzō was rendered powerless. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t shout, nor fight back. Unable to resist the forces that drained his chakra and wielded his gift. And yet he was entirely conscious, and he remembered everything. Was aware of everything that happened on the outside, through the emotions and actions of the thing that encapsulated him now.

Tenzō was a usually a peaceful, placid man.

Now he was furious. It was like watching the film reel of unspeakable crime. He went from hot anger to quiet wrath to muted grief. They’d taken everything from him, and he hadn’t had much to begin with. And after all that, he couldn’t even control the expulsion of his own tears.

**  
  
**


	3. In the Crossfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys get two chapters today. 
> 
> Because I wrote a shitload of words today (10K+) and I really wanted DreamingDragon to read this chapter so badly I could taste it. (And she's been so good and patient! I'm SO PROUD!)
> 
> So yes. Praise be. 
> 
> And thank her, that this story even exists.

* * *

Tenzō had endured the many flavors of torture, but none seemed to compare to this. Though it was not his flesh that suffered, nor his blood that drenched the earth, hearing the anguish and terror beyond while he was trapped and could do nothing tore his heart to shreds. The knife only cut deeper knowing that his miraculous ability was exploited against his friends. It was a fear shared by Tenzō and the Hokage both: that the Mokuton might fall into enemy hands. It was his existence that now tormented them. In his darkness, Tenzō wished he had been killed instead. This was the very reason why Anbu operatives destroyed their own bodies when captured. Of course, his body had been immobilized, so he hadn’t had the chance.

 _If I ever get the chance,_ he vowed, _I’ll take it._

He waited. He was still and silent, excruciatingly so. The creature that encapsulated his form eventually stopped paying him any attention, hopefully assuming he was dead or at least unconscious. His body moved against his will. His chakra answered the call of the thing that trapped him, betraying him into combat against Tenzō’s own friends. Tenzō endured, mourning the desecration of the glory of the Mokuton. _Soon_ , he vowed, brimming with apology. _Soon_.

He had known that Hashirama’s gift was a devastating weapon during the age of legends long past. The Mokuton then was as feared as it was revered. Tenzō’s own moderate skill invariably impressed, yet he and others knew that they still could never hold a candle to the Shodaime’s mastery of it. But Tenzō sensed the magnitude of the Mokuton as his chakra was expertly moulded by the one on the outside, bringing forth Hashirama’s own creations. Tenzō might have wept with awe if he wasn’t already shrinking in horror. The spectacle defied all belief.

A firm and tragic certainty rooted in his gut. If the sanctity of the Mokuton was compromised, the duty fell upon him to undo it. The moment he was released, he would have to burn himself to ash. Perhaps they’d remember him better, then, as the one who ultimately saved them. Rather than a number among hundreds that died during the war. Not just another notch on a rock.

“It finally started. I’m finished here. I don’t need this filling anymore.”

Grim relief blossomed in his chest. At long last, it seemed his imprisonment was coming to an end. A flashbulb of light erupted in his vision, blinding him. His eyes squeezed shut, protecting tender tissues. He knew his moment was nigh. He seized and moulded chakra, prepared to activate the seal in his arm. _Yes, burn it,_ he told himself. _Burn it to ashes._ The moment he had that idea, though, his resolve wavered. If it had only been a matter of destroying himself, ending his own insignificant life for the greater good, he’d have done it without hesitation. But it wasn’t. His ability was glorious, a magic not seen in generations. If there was even the slightest chance he could save that, was it not also his duty to protect that? He remained poised to strike. 

He couldn't do it. 

He thought about it for too long as the wooden encasement unraveled and belched his body forward. He collapsed, completely whole. Tenzō, once more, from fingers to toes, memories and all. Around him, he heard the ragged cries of others, surprised to see him there. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Even his consciousness was slipping. Much to his dismay, his own strength seemed dependent upon the support of the organism that had ejected him. Without the support of his captor, he had no strength left. He even lacked the faculty to push himself to an elbow. To blink. His eyelids felt like lead, his tongue like stone.

No one made a move to help him, their collective focus turned elsewhere. There was something larger going on, something his jailer had sensed just before releasing him. _It finally started._ Tenzō had the sudden, frustrating urge to unleash a string of curses. He was helpless again, weak as a newborn kitten. In the middle of a war torn land susceptible to a major strike, perhaps—probably—apocalyptic. And meanwhile he couldn’t even twitch a finger or beg for help. All he managed was a pitiful moan of anguish. Any minute now, and he’d be dead. It was foolish of him to think he could save the Mokuton.

He couldn’t even save himself.

Fortunately, his seal could be activated with only the barest flicker of chakra. It was time. He shut his eyes and concentrated, grasping ineffectually at the force inside. The futility of it was akin to a drunken man reaching for the door handle from his prostrate position upon the floor. He stretched, swiping for what was just outside his reach. He wanted to scream in frustration. Even in killing himself, he would fail.

Something warm slid beneath his chest, like the arm of a lover collecting him from his fall. Maybe it was because he was worn out, beyond exhausted, and probably about to die, but the slow tightening around his middle made him want it to be true. His deepest, most personal secret bubbled to the surface. _If I am about to die,_ he surrendered at last, _it would be my only selfish desire to fade in his arms_. Whatever—whomever?—had reached down to pick him up hoisted him into the air. A flood of positive energy seeped into his skin, permeating his being. His Shinobi sensibilities told him it was some kind of dope, a sweeter venom than the one from before, which made Kakashi only an illusion. Just a fever dream.

But the drug was strong and wonderful, so he smiled, shut his eyes again, and let go.

* * *

 

Tenzō blinked rapidly, as if waking from a dream. Had he been daydreaming? At a time like this?

“Hmm,” mused the man across the table. “I can’t decide if I want fried rice or white.”

Tenzō shook off the feeling of confusion like a bad dream remembered. His stomach snarled as soon as his mind let it go. The restaurant smelled wonderful, and he was starving besides. It felt as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. “Both,” he blurted. _Man, I’m famished._

“Hm?” Kakashi blinked and met his eyes over the top edge of the menu. “Both for me, or both for you?”

Tenzō scanned his own menu flat against the table, looking for something interesting. “Both for both,” he murmured. “How about you get one and I’ll get the other, and we can just share?”

Kakashi chuckled, sounding genuinely pleased. “Alright. Both it is.”

Tenzō folded his menu. Kakashi shut his, too, though the lower half of his face remained covered by his usual mask. _Pity._ A young lady came a moment later and took their order, then hurried off to fill it. Tenzō stretched his arms above his head and behind his chair, observing the other patrons of the restaurant. He eavesdropped, just a little, catching snippets of general conversation. The folks around them spoke of peaceful things: birthday parties, gossip from work, complaints about the weather.

Kakashi’s hands laced together in front of his covered face, elbows resting upon the tabletop. He did the same as Tenzō, glancing from one side of the place to the other. They waited in silence.

It gave Tenzō a reason to wonder why _they_ didn’t speak of such things. Why didn’t _they_ get to talk about gossip and birthdays? He frowned, supposing they could if they wanted. It’s just that none of it seemed worth the effort. How could something so banal ever seem significant after everything they’d seen?

“It seems so silly, doesn’t it?” Kakashi asked him softly. “That we can be so bothered by normal conversations, simply because we don’t know how to have them ourselves.”

Tenzō’s gaze sharpened on Kakashi, though the other man was still looking around. “That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?” Kakashi asked.

Tenzō’s mouth fell open. “How did you…?”

“Know?” he finished for him. The corners of his eyes turned upward as he presumably smiled. He chuckled again. “Oh, no reason.” He paused. “I was just thinking the exact same thing.” He turned toward Tenzō then, both eyes drifted closed from his smile.

Something about Kakashi helped him relax. Tenzō smiled, his eyes dropping to the pattern etched into the wood. Fleur de lis, lacquered over with gold leaf. A nice touch.

“Psst.” Tenzō’s eyes snapped upward, finding the direction of Kakashi’s vision scrolling with movement over Tenzō’s shoulder. Anbu training wasn’t easily dropped. Tenzō pressed his hands together, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Kakashi hair shifted as he peered at him from the corner of his eye. One eyebrow raised. “The food’s here,” he explained quietly with a hint of concern. Tenzō breathed a sigh of audible relief. Kakashi kept his vision trained on him. A few heartbeats later, his eyes softened in commiseration. They thanked the waitress for the food and set about it wordlessly. The constant buzz of the tables around them orbited their silent table, a node of nothing in the middle of it all. Halfway through the meal, Kakashi interrupted. “Tenzō. Are you alright?”

He froze in the motion of rice-to-mouth. He thought about lying. Then he didn’t. “No.”

Kakashi nodded. To Tenzo’s relief, he didn’t pry.

All the way through dinner, Tenzō kept glancing nervously about, overcome with a sense of wrongness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong here. A weed, unwelcome in a flower bed. A blip in an otherwise perfect, mundane world. The longer he thought about it, the more morose he felt. His food lost all its taste, like a landscape leeched of all color. His jaw was even too tired to chew. Before he could finish, he pushed the plate away and sipped his water instead, looking away.

“Tenzō,” Kakashi stated flatly. “Before we walked in here, you said you were starving.”

He had been. Still was, actually. “Yes, senpai, but—“

“You just got back from three weeks of mission rations. They don’t put fried rice and mongolian beef in those. I would know.”

“I know, but—“

“Tenzō.” The word was at once both firm and concerned. Tenzō could do nothing but meet his eyes, midsentence. His mouth clicked shut, the excuse dying on his tongue. Kakashi leaned forward and lowered his voice. “They—“ he said with a tilt of his head to indicate the general populace, “—don’t speak of it because they don’t know. They haven’t seen the things we’ve seen. They haven’t suffered as we’ve suffered. So. Don’t look at them. Just look at _me_.”

And he did. Kakashi was heartbreakingly beautiful with his mask tugged down carelessly around his chin. He had deep dimples that divoted at the slightest hint of a coming smile. Slowly, the crooked, tilting world righted itself. Nothing beyond their table made sense. But everything at the table was rock solid. Steady understanding reflected back from his eyes. “That’s better,” Kakashi commended. “You have nightmares when you go to bed hungry,” he added to himself.

Tenzō smiled faintly, then finished his food. When they were done, they simply sat back in their chairs, contentedly full. Kakashi winked at him just before he pulled his mask back up. The waitress dropped off the bill and took their plates. Tenzō dug out his wallet with a deep sigh. He reached across the table, his hand splayed flat over the black folder with the check inside. Kakashi’s hand closed over his. Tenzō’s face reddened as he met the other man’s eyes. Kakashi was laughing softly. “What?” Tenzō wondered.

Kakashi let go of his hand. “Go ahead, then,” he urged.

Suspicious, he finished dragging the check toward himself. He opened the folder. There was a note from the waitress. _Tell Tenzō I said happy birthday, and thanks so much for the generous tip!_ She’d signed her name at the bottom, next to a cat smiley face. Tenzō stared at the words, floored. _Kakashi paid?_

“Come on,” Kakashi said. “And we’ll see about that birthday present.”

**  
  
**


	4. Hurts Too Much

“I’m sure there’s something wrong with me,” Kakashi said to Sakura.

Sakura bent back on one elbow against the counter. She pursed her lips and twisted them to the side, appraising him, sea green eyes shifting up, down, and up again. “You look fine to me,” she huffed. “What are your symptoms?”

He realized belatedly that he was probably taking away from her valuable time. Sakura was important now, and had probably only made the time for him because he was Kakashi and she was Sakura, and _he’d_ asked for _her_ specifically. He hated hospitals and doctors and anything to do with medicine. But he _was_ certain that something was wrong, and there was no one else he trusted with his general health. “I can’t sleep. I feel awful.”

“That’s pretty… vague,” she drawled, raising an eyebrow and shifting her weight to one foot. “I could diagnose you with everything from food poisoning to a slipped disc. Can you be more specific?”

“I think I have post traumatic stress disorder. Or something. I’m not a doctor.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the hospital bed.

“I mean about your symptoms,” she elaborated with fraying patience.

He didn’t really want to tell her. It would sound horrible. But he figured he’d better get over it. This was why he'd requested her after all. Because he knew she wouldn’t judge. “I don’t feel anything,” he sighed at last. “About the people who died in the war. I keep expressing sympathy for those who’ve lost someone, but I don’t feel it. It’s meaningless.” And stressing about how that surely made him a bad person was keeping his mind whirring in circles all throughout the night. 

She frowned and went silent for a moment, considering. “I see.” She didn’t sound as if she did. “Do you have any idea where that might be coming from?”

“No,” he lied. He knew perfectly well… he just didn’t agree that his reasoning was logical. Although it truly pained Kakashi to see so many bright souls snuffed out in the space of a few short days, the reality was that his heart wasn’t really in it. The Fourth War should have been more devastating than it was. It had the vast potential to destroy a great many lives. But it _hadn’t_. Not really. Not when one compared the casualties to previous wars.

Like the war he’d fought.

The Third War had chewed up the lives of a number of his peers, devastated the survivors with the memories. The Third War had completely destroyed the Rain Village, broken an entire people and eliminated a great deal of trust. The Third War was a bloody, destructive thing that gnawed upon the flesh of guilty and innocent alike. It had been so bad, Konoha had toyed with the idea of getting a second, larger memorial stone to replace the first. They’d instead plopped another rock on top of it. More space for more names.

And how did the Fourth War end? With peace. All five nations wholeheartedly agreeing for the first time since chakra had been discovered. The five kages were friends. The survivors were left with the stable sense that there _would not be_ another war. The list of notable casualties was blessedly short. Kakashi wasn’t grieving for the losses of the Fourth War. He was far too relieved to note that so few were lost. But he couldn’t very well make a scene of celebration when so many were beyond distraught.

Sakura sighed heavily and told him precisely what he’d suspected. “I’m pretty busy, you know.” She pushed off from the counter and stepped toward him, lifting her hands. “And furthermore, I’m not a psychologist. The person you really need to see is Ino. You know better than anyone that she can handle this.” She pressed her cool fingertips to his temples, and the soothing thrum of chakra stroked his ears. Her face sombered as she focused her energy, trying to diagnose his condition. After a moment, her eyes drifted shut and the space between her brows crinkled. He watched her for a moment, then he, too, closed his eyes, attempting to relax.

The touch of her chakra wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d thought his head might hurt, or that he’d feel pressure. Instead, it was just warmth. There wasn’t even the discomforting sense that she was sifting through his mind, as he’d surely expected. He sighed noisily, consoled. He’d been putting off coming to see Sakura for weeks, but the insomnia was a major problem. The Hokage’s desk was a city of paper towers, and the longer he went without sleep, the more fearsome it seemed. The towers grew and wobbled, the edges of his vision liquefying. He was starting to see things. Enough was enough.

The glow, the hum, and the medic who wielded both retreated. “Well,” she said on the wings of another sigh. “Nothing that I can see. You probably should go see Ino,” she repeated. She crossed her arms and gave him an appraising look. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” she asked with concern.

He schooled his face to careful blankness. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. The things that usually bother you. Your past? Your future?”

His mood soured instantly. No, he definitely didn’t want to talk about those things. “No. Can’t you just prescribe some sleeping meds so I can get some rest?”

She shook her head. “Not without some kind of diagnosis, Kakashi, and you seem fine, besides the not sleeping. All you need is rest.”

“To rest I need help,” he insisted stubbornly. _The ‘not sleeping’ is why I came. Does that not count as a diagnosis? Insomnia?_

Her head tilted to the side. “Sleeping medication is highly addictive. I’m not going to replace your exhaustion with a drug problem. Go see Ino. If she thinks you need sleeping meds, _then_ come back and see me.” _She gave him the look that said which is what you should have done in the first place._ She made for the door. 

“Thanks, Sakura,” he grumbled. Just like with most of his expressions lately, his heart wasn’t in that one, either.

* * *

 

After the war, Yamanaka Ino had taken over the intelligence division seamlessly. The department accepted her presence there as if her father had only been keeping the seat warm for _her_. She took to the tasks as if she’d been training for them her entire life. Advancements in every branch came rapidly. Her first area of concentration as the head of the division had been a heavier emphasis on psychology and psychiatry. She personally oversaw the training of several new specialists focused on shinobi mental health, a remnant of her own medical training.

It was a busy and growing department; a new request for candidates crossed his desk just last week. In the wake of the war, scores of shinobi were seeking the counseling that was offered, and as testimony spread, so did business. At first, they’d all been tentative. shinobi pride was an expensive thing. No one wanted to admit he was crazy and ask for help. Medication dulled the senses, and seemed too much like a crutch for what seemed a very basic problem. “I’m sad” or “I have nightmares” just sounded like whining to one’s own ears. Until the counseling helped. And the medication helped, too. Ino received high praise.

But Ino had a big mouth, and Kakashi didn’t want to tell her about his problems. Unfortunately, he was Hokage, and he needed his sleep. Badly. He was in a position where a bleary eyed mistake could cost a loss of lives, and he had enough death on his conscience as it stood.

“It took you three days to find me,” Ino accused petulantly, giving him the same crossed armed glare that Sakura had. His shoulders slumped. He should have assumed that Sakura would tell Ino. His new doctor noticed and cocked her head. “Jeez, don’t blame Sakura. She’s just worried about you. Now, close your eyes and relax.” She shook out her hands and came forward.

“Don’t you want to hear about my symptoms?” he stalled, confused.

“That’s not really how this works,” she muttered, putting her hand upon his forehead. Her fingers were cold. “Relax when you’re ready. And don’t worry, I’ll know. Your mind won’t let me in if you don’t relax.”

“I thought…” he trailed off, remembering how Inoichi had used his jutsu to steal information.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah but if I did it that way, it would hurt and might damage your brain. I’m not trying to tear out intel. I’m just trying to figure out why you can’t sleep.”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm. He knew his mind was rebelling. He didn’t want anyone to see into his thoughts. There were a lot of dark things in there that he’d never shared with anyone else. Still, Ino was only trying to help. And if she saw enough to prescribe the sleeping meds, all the better. “What’s it feel like?” he delayed again.

“Prying,” she answered honestly. “You’ll see what I see. It goes in layers. Usually I start with easy stuff, like what you ate for breakfast this morning.”

 _I didn’t eat breakfast this morning,_ he thought.

“Yeah, I know,” she muttered. There was a demonstrative flutter at the edge of his thoughts, almost as if her mind were waving at his.

He tensed. It was disconcerting, having his thoughts read.

“Kakashi, it’s okay, I promise. This is very routine. Be thankful you’re not trying to hide a hostage location from me. This is nothing but a slightly uncomfortable trip down memory lane.” She waited patiently, her hand remarkably stable upon his brow.

He chastised himself for behaving like a child. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, seeking inner strength. Then he exhaled slowly and shut his eyes.

It began as a feather light touch at the edges of his consciousness, like a tickle just beneath the skin. And then, he started remembering things he hadn’t been thinking about, like his walk into the office this morning, the trip to see Sakura, the class he’d visited two days ago, a desire for coffee. _Not so scary,_ he told himself, calming further. She took that as permission and went a layer further in, stirring up memories of training his genin, becoming Hokage, an envoy mission to Rain, his suppressed dismay at a lunch with Naruto (“ramen again?”). Then she found the memories of visiting the Memorial Stone, and his mind contracted around her presence there, like an iron grip on the wrist.

She paused and held steady, a quiet, unobtrusive stranger in a foreign land. She’d surely experienced being unwelcome before, and simply waited with monolithic patience. Either he would calm and allow her to continue, or she would retreat. It depended upon him. His breathing quickened, concerned about what she might find. His block on her didn’t slacken, but her patience never wavered. He expected her to roll her eyes and try to rush him, but surprisingly she didn’t. It gave him the time he needed to ease back from the edge of panic. He calmed, talking himself down again. Slowly, gently, he allowed her to continue.

Her reach went slower now. The memory played in slow motion, allowing him to acclimate to each still frame moment. Snapshot by snapshot, his vision lowered to the obsidian rock, looking for the name he knew was there. Lower, and lower still. One frame before he found it, Kakashi panicked. He didn’t want to see it. Not with her there, even if she had probably already heard the name sliding in and out of his constant thoughts. His mind constricted again, but this time his brain frantically tried to push her out.

Ino retreated.

His eyes snapped open and her hand recoiled as if she’d touched something hot. Her face, however, was grim. “Stay here,” she ordered. “I’ll be right back.” She left the room.

**  
  
  
**


	5. Listen Up

It wasn’t Ino that returned, however, but Morino Ibiki. He came in just far enough to shut the door, then leaned against it and gave Kakashi a short nod. “Hokage-sama.”

“Ibiki,” he greeted cautiously. He didn’t like Ibiki’s sudden--oppressive and demanding--presence in the room. Morino Ibiki was famous for torture and interrogation. He had a brutal way of wringing out information, and he always got what he wanted from his victims. Kakashi had come here for sleeping pills. He didn’t come here to give up all of his secrets, especially not in the way Ibiki might intend.

“You’re probably wondering why Ino sent me.” He smirked wryly.

Kakashi nodded solemnly, unsurprised that Ibiki had guessed at his concerns. “No offense, but I didn’t even want to let Ino into my thoughts. You carry a bit of a reputation.”

His smile broadened just a little. “Good to see that my presence still strikes fear in the souls of the innocent, even at my old age.”

“You’re not—“ he started.

“Old?” Ibiki finished for him with the tilt of his chin. “I’m not? Not much older than you, I suppose. But it’s still exhausting to see all the snot-nosed genin grow up into jounin and start running the place, don’t you think?”

Kakashi immediately thought of Naruto. He was the most exhausting of all of the former rookies. He was also Kakashi’s trainee, and the next Hokage. It was only natural that his thoughts should turn there. He found himself smiling, if only a little. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Ibiki closed his eyes and smiled. “When Ino cast open the doors of this division, I think all of us old fogeys resisted a little. She’s loud. She’s always moving. She makes frequent changes to the formula. She makes you think. I don’t think we were ready for it.”

“Yeah. I can’t remember when the last time I had some peace and quiet was, now that I think about it.” He scratched his head and flickered a sheepish glance in Ibiki’s direction.

“Mm-hmm.” He paused. “Sakura and Ino don’t have any idea what’s wrong with you, Kakashi. But I do.”

Kakashi froze. He stared, daring the man to say it aloud, to prove his reputation was worth every cold sweat.

“You’re old.”

And Kakashi nearly swore in frustration. He loosed a sigh and rolled his gaze away, fixating upon some indistinguishable point on the ceiling. No one understood.

“You saw the Third War,” Ibiki continued.

Kakashi’s interest piqued. He peeked at Ibiki from the corner of one eye, witholding judgment. For now.

“You remember how many died, and how brutally. How one team would leave in the middle of the night, in the pouring rain. How only one man might come back, wearing the blood of his friends, unable to speak coherently for the panic lacing his voice. You saw the devastating effects of well-placed explosive tags.” With every word, Kakashi’s eyes grew wider. “You saw the white of a man’s eyes as he gutted your friends, just as panicked as we all were. How _man_ destroyed _man_ , for no logical reason at all. You remember how children were promoted far too soon, launched into the jaws of beasts they didn’t understand, only to be chewed up and spat back out. You were one of them. You were one of the _un_ lucky ones who survived. To remember. To live on when you should have died. And,” he added quietly, “you’re one of the grizzled old vets who can’t label the Fourth War as a catastrophic loss of life. Because in the end we actually got something out of this one, and you know it came at a fraction of the cost of the Third War.” He was silent a moment, allowing his words to sink in.

He’d nailed it. Kakashi stared at him, dumbfounded. As it turned out, Ibiki’s reputation _was_ well deserved. He hadn’t even needed to ferret out the information. He’d read Kakashi like an open book. “How did you do that?” he wondered aloud.

“It’s a gift,” he replied shortly, then went on to explain. “I’ve made it my profession to study the reactions of people. There’s something in the radius and depth of the pupils, the muscles at the corners of the eyes, and in the face. The stoop of shoulders, the tone of voice or lack thereof. Nervous habits, like tapping fingers, darting eyes, fidgeting feet, or like the way your lips twitch beneath the fabric of your mask. I read people. Usually, I read behaviors so I know which kinds of pressures to apply, but in your case…” he shrugged. “I know your diagnosis because I have the same one. I, too, can’t wrap my head around the last war. It almost feels like we got off easy.”

“Exactly!” Kakashi blurted, surprising himself.

Ibiki gave a rueful smile. “So you’re old,” he repeated. “Your problem is that you can’t agree with the way the younger generation thinks. They didn’t see the previous war. We _did_. Luckily for you, I have the cure.”

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He had been pretty certain there wasn’t a cure. “Thanks, but… I only submitted myself to the pleasure of your company for the chance at some powerful sleeping drugs. My issues are the lasting kind. No one has a cure for what I’ve got.”

Ibiki chuckled. It was a sinister, uncompromising sound. “No sleeping drugs for you.”

Kakashi deflated. _Wonderful_. “Well in that case, I’ll take whatever you’ll offer.”

“I’m prescribing you a neverending supply of No,” he relayed with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “You are to take it as needed.”

Kakashi stared at him, sure he’d misheard. “I don’t follow.”

“Old folks love the word No. ‘Hey, you want to help me with my training tonight?’ ‘No.’ ‘Wanna get a drink after work?’ ‘No.’ ‘Would you do this so I can goof off?’ ‘No.’ Just say _no_ , and _keep_ saying _no_.”

“That doesn’t seem related to the problem,” Kakashi deadpanned.

“It is. Trust me.”

Kakashi slid out of the folding chair and drew himself up to his full height. He stretched, popping a few crunched up joints with a groan. “I suppose that means I’m walking out of here _without_ a prescription for sleeping meds.”

Ibiki’s shoulders hitched with an unapologetic shrug. “In a pinch, alcohol works almost as well. Less addictive, worse side effects. Like nausea, headache, diarrhea…”

“You mean a hangover.”

Ibiki ignored him. “Your predecessor was a firm believer in its restorative properties.”

 _Tsunade_. “Thanks for the advice.”

Ibiki gave him a two finger salute and cleared the way to the door.

Three strikes. No sleeping drugs. He wasn’t interested in courting a drinking problem. He knew firsthand how destructive that habit could be. Kakashi already had too much in common with his father. He’d forgiven the man years ago, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be just like him. At least, not anymore. _Come to think of it, I’m the same age as he was when he died_.

Yep. Alcohol was out.

That first night after his diagnosis— _I’m old?_ —was frustrating as all hell. He didn’t get any sleep. His mind was awash with regrets and the faces of dead Shinobi that he couldn’t mourn. He couldn’t help feeling as if he had it worse than they did, forced to live on, having stepped on their staring faces on his way toward the unwanted Hat. _And here I am while you finally have found some peace and quiet,_ he grumbled inwardly. His heart ached. The worst of it was that he consciously knew that his treatment of the situation was callous. He shouldn’t be comparing his struggles to the condition of being dead. It was unfair. They’d probably give just about anything to be alive.

 _If they had anything to give,_ came the macabre thought.

He sighed and turned over, curling his arms around his pillow, digging his face deeper into the fluff. He would find no comfort in it tonight, no matter how deeply he burrowed. His dark eyes blinked into the darkness, staring at the shadows on the wall. How empty it all seemed. Why bother? Day in, day out, the same routine. ‘Wake up,’ process mission reports. Appointments throughout the day. Appearances of state around the village. Process mission requests. Handle special reports and requests. Meetings with advisors. If he was lucky, he’d get a little time for training. Then he could go to bed sore and tired instead of just tired, _not_ sleep, and drag his ass out of bed the next day to do it all over again.

Throughout the night, he had enough time to consider Ibiki’s advice. “A prescription of No,” he murmured to himself in the dark of his room. “Alright.”

* * *

The following day brought Kakashi’s liberation.

“Hokage-sama, there’s a stack of mission reports left over from last night, and one more arrived around two in the morning,” Kotetsu relayed.

He opened his mouth to acknowledge the assignment and thank Kotetsu. Kakashi liked Kotetsu. He was a hardworking guy. But instead, the words came out as, “No… you or Izumo can take care of those.”

The younger man blinked. “Um… okay… Hokage-sama,” he managed as Kakashi brushed past him.

The world didn’t burn down in flames. The spindle of time did not grind to a halt. The moment Kakashi turned the corner, he stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath. It did feel good. He listened to Kotetsu as he started muttering to himself about needing to consider a different profession, and his footsteps diminished. Kakashi grinned, feeling the onset of a revolution.

“Hokage-sama.” Iruka. “I just came to drop off the results from the final exam. The third year students are looking forward to your visit this afternoon. We’ve been discussing change in chakra nature, and if you wouldn’t mind—“

“I can’t do it today, Iruka. I’m sorry.”

He looked puzzled. “But Kakashi—“

“No.” He left Iruka standing there in shock. Hurt. In truth, he felt a little bad about that one, but… bruised feelings were good for building character. He was living proof of that.

“Kakashi.” Shikamaru. “The latest batch of missions to be assigned.” He hefted a short stack and frowned his apology.

“I trust you,” Kakashi told him cheerfully.

“Yeah, yeah. What you mean is ‘you do them, Shikamaru. I’m going to go drink myself stupid.’” He gave him the I-know-exactly-what-you’re-doing look. “I started working here before you were Hokage. I’m not assigning your missions, Kakashi. I have my own job to do, and if I’m not home in time for dinner, I’m a dead man.”

“No.”

He let loose a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll put them on your desk. If you don’t do them, we’ll just run out of money and the economy will crash. But it’s whatever.” He waved over his shoulder and walked the other direction, yawning. Kakashi watched him go with a delightful, growing sense of apathy.

“Hokage-samaaa!” Some new assistant, beckoning him toward his advisory council. He didn't recall her name. 

“Not todayyy!” he sang back, twirling to speak to her as he walked backwards. He spun back around and nearly ran smack dab into an orange wall of Naruto, his arms crossed, a sour expression on his face.

“Hmm,” Naruto drawled through an exaggerated frown. “ _You_ seem different today.”

“I’m on medication,” Kakashi told him shortly, matching his pose.

He squinted up into Kakashi’s face. They stared at each other. “You were supposed to teach me something today,” he began. “Why can’t I remember what it was?”

“No.”

Bright blue eyes relaxed. Blinked in utter confusion. “Eh?”

“No.” He didn’t care that it didn’t make sense for whatever Naruto was getting at. It felt so good to say. “No. No. _No_.”

“You okay? You sound like you’re going crazy. Did Ino break your head?” He waved his hand in front of Kakashi’s face.

Kakashi grasped his wrist in annoyance. “No,” he said again. “I feel better than I’ve felt in days. In fact,” he continued, dragging Naruto’s hand down and releasing it. He had an idea. A wonderful idea, like a blessing from the heavens above, and the answer to all of his prayers. “Kotetsu’s got mission reports. Iruka’s expecting a demonstration of change in chakra nature this afternoon at 12:45 p.m. Shikamaru’s probably asleep on the mission assignments. And, the advisory board juuust convened about ten minutes ago.” He took off his hat and plopped it down on top of Naruto’s head. “Go get ‘em, Hokage-sama.”

Naruto made a sound of pleasant surprise and grinned. But just as fast, the smile slid from his face. “Heyyy. This isn’t one of your tricks, is it? Because if I have to sit through another quilting session so you can go spend your afternoon at the hot springs again, I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Kakashi asked cheerfully. The hat didn’t weigh much, but his head already felt lighter without it. He ruffled his own hair, trying to lose the matting in favor of his usually unkempt appearance.

Naruto stared at him. “Are you serious or not?”

“Dead serious.”

The grin returned full force. His fist pummeled the air. “Alright! I’ve got an advisory board meeting to get to! Catch you later, Kakashi-sensei!”

With his schedule unexpectedly cleared, Kakashi took the long way home. His path took him past the memorial stone. It wasn’t quite noon yet, and the sunshine beat down on the polished stone, glaring like a mirror. Kakashi didn’t even look at it. He tossed one hand into the air. “Yo, Obito!” he called out, as if his old pal was just there sitting upon it. Probably with his bottom lip stuck out, his arms crossed, his goggles casting an orange tint upon his cheeks. _Hmph_ , he would have said, turning his face and refusing to say hello.

As if nothing had ever changed.

His apartment seemed less dismal than it had before. The sun cast bright beams through the glass of the windows, warming squares of the wooden flooring. Heat distorted the air above them. It had been a while since he’d noticed such a mundane thing. He never took his eyes off the shivers in the air as he crashed down upon his futon. He heaved a great sigh of relief and tipped his head back against the wall.

He fell asleep sitting up.

**  
  
  
**


	6. I Don't Know

Word apparently spread pretty fast. Kakashi planned to spend his day in quiet, solitary contemplation. He slept in past 5 a.m. And then past 8 a.m. He wouldn’t have even left the house if it weren’t for the belligerent knocking upon his door around 9:30. “Kakashiii! I mean, Hokage-samaaa!”

He smacked his hand over his face. He could have slept another six hours, easily. And had intended to, before this little interruption. For the space of several breaths, he listened to Shizune’s frantic pummeling of his poor front door. It was irritating, but he seriously considered ignoring her and going back to sleep.

“I know you’re in there, Kakashi.” The second voice was half as patient and twice as terrifying. _Sakura_. Kakashi was starting to feel henpecked. “And if you don’t open this door by the count of three, I’ll break it off its hinges,” she growled.

His eyes popped open, peering up at the ceiling. She could do it. She possessed more than enough strength in one pinky.

“One.”

 _Damn_. He threw back the covers and sprang to his feet.

“Two.”

The door peeked open. The light beyond the crack of the door was too bright to his sleepy eyes. Two angry feminine glares greeted him through the narrow space. Women were never like they were in the stories. “What?” he wondered blearily.

Sakura smacked Shizune’s arm lightly. “You had a meeting an hour ago?” Shizune peeped. Sakura leveled him with a stare on par with Tsunade’s, lending the authority and aura of _pissed off_ Shizune perpetually lacked.

A slow smile tugged across his lips, pulling at the fabric. “No.” He pulled the door open a little further and leaned against the frame.

“Whaddaya mean, no?” Sakura demanded, stabbing black gloved fists into her hips. “And so help me, Kakashi-sensei, if you lie to me I’ll rearrange your _face_. I’ve already had a hell of a morning. Sometimes it feels like I’m raising _two_ infants instead of _one_. I reached my stress limit for the week _two days ago_.”

“I quit.” Their mouths fell open in sync. He shut the door. He tried to go back to sleep, but rest eluded him. He was too awake to snooze. Then around 10 a.m. or so someone else knocked on the door, and he realized he wasn’t going to get any sleep at home if everyone had heard the rumor and came just to make sure he was okay. Sometimes he wasn't quite sure if he missed the days when no one cared about him. It was better than _the reason_ they cared _now_. He chose his plainest clothing and covered up with his hooded cloak to obscure his masked face, then sneaked out the window while whomever it was this time kept right on knocking. He considered packing his books and moving. He’d wanted a new place to live anyway. It was inconvenient when everyone knew where to find him at any hour.

He jammed his hands in his pockets, then immediately pulled them back out. Hands-in-pockets was one of his signature traveling methods. If anyone was looking for him, they’d know to look for that. He opted instead for lacing his fingers together behind his back. It was awkward, but necessary.

Konoha was lovely today. It had been a long time since he could just enjoy the sights as he loped throughout town. Without the banter of an advisor at his elbow or the stresses of his office, he found himself drawn to the displays in the windows of shops. Brightly colored masks for a festival next week pulled faces at him, deep ugly grimaces and cheshire smiles, some adorned with feathers and others accentuated with glitter. He stared at them for a moment, thinking of the celebration he’d be pointedly avoiding this time next week. _At least I won’t have to give the speech at the opening ceremony now,_ he thought with relief. That made him smile. He moved further down the avenue.

Fragrant food smells reached his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, recognizing the scent of deep fried bread, cinnamon and sugar. He tilted his head from side to side, picking up other smells, too. Barbecue pork, rice, the sickly sweet scent of dango, stewing fish, grilled chicken. Kakashi paused in the middle of the road, his nose in the air. For a moment, he enjoyed the true delight of delectable wafting flavors, without the rush of a hurried appointment or the nagging of a stifling advisor.

“Fortunes! Get your fortune told!” His head tipped sideways, his private entertainment interrupted by what appeared to be a fortune teller. They were always gimmicks, but fun gimmicks. She stopped with her mouth wide open, ready to call out her trade again before she saw him looking. “Ahhh,” she mused conspiratorially. “There’s a handsome lad with luck in his future if I _ever_ saw one.” She grinned, flashing pearly white teeth in a face that Kakashi couldn’t decide was old or young. She waved him forward. He glanced away, for a moment wishing he had someone to pull him away and tell him it was foolish.

The moment he realized what he was doing, he admonished himself. If he wanted his fortune told, he’d do it. There wasn’t any harm in it. And now that there was no one to tell him not to, that was all the more reason to. “Why not?” he said aloud with a shrug, making a beeline for her stand.

The lady behind the counter gave him a smoldering, secretive smile. “Give me your dominant hand,” she bade him. He proffered his right hand. She squeezed his hand, massaging the muscles in his fingers, her lips twitching as she spoke so softly he couldn’t hear. Then, abruptly, she raised her right hand without looking at him. “Blow,” she commanded. He blinked, for a moment unsure what she was asking. Then he leaned forward slightly and breathed a puff of air against the palm of her hand. She gave a small smile and shook that hand. Then, slowly, she stroked each of the insides of her fingers. It tickled. Kakashi watched her at work, wondering where she’d learned whatever it was she was doing. It wasn’t any kind of fortune telling he’d seen, though it seemed to share some common origin with palm reading.

Then she curled their fingers together and shut her eyes, tilting her head as if listening to the wind. She tipped her head from side to side, following a current that only she could hear. Kakashi strained his ears too, if only because he was bored. At last, she smiled and released his hand. “Your luck is about to change,” she told him in an excited tone. Her eyes sparkled with new secrets. “You’ve already started down that path. Yesterday, I think.”

He tensed, disconcerted that she could tell. It was _just enough_ truth to whet his appetite. “What else did you see? Or feel? Or hear, or whatever…?”

“You won’t be alone much longer, my handsome lad,” she said with a wink. “Hang in there. You’re _very_ special. It was my pleasure to tell your fortune. _Thank you_ for sharing it with me.”

“Can you share it with _me_?” he wondered, confused. She hadn’t really told him much after all. She could mean anything. “What do you mean, I won’t be alone much longer?”

She shook her head as she said the word in a warm, low tone, pleased for him. “Love,” she breathed.

His skin prickled. “Thanks, but… I think you have the wrong person,” he told her uncomfortably.

She shook her head and threw her hands up in surrender. “There’s no mistake,” she assured him, patiently. “I’m used to that reaction, though. You’ll thank me soon enough.”

He leaned in and told her quietly, so as not to be overheard, “I can’t really stand the company of others,” he confessed. “And most don’t like to be around me for too long. I have more baggage than a traveling circus.”

“Ahhh,” she drew out, leaning back as if she’d already won a game he didn’t know he was playing.

“What?” he demanded, irritated now.

“You have to love yourself before you can love another,” she told him with a wink. “And when you do, think long and hard about it. If you could pick one person in the entire world to spend every day of the rest of your life with, who would it be?”

Kakashi had had enough. He dipped into his pocket and pulled out a couple of bills. “Thanks for the fortune,” he mumbled as politely as he could manage. He should have guessed. These things were all the same. They all told futures filled with love or riches or luck beyond imagining. He didn’t know why he even tried, or why he might have expected anything different. _Because no one was here to tell me I couldn’t,_ he remembered. Here he was halfway between thirty and forty, rebelling against authority.

He sighed miserably, digging his hands deep into his pockets, so caught up in his self reflections that he forgot to keep from standing out. His eyes watched the road six inches in front of his toes as he resumed his trek through the center of Konoha proper.

“Hey, aren’t you that wood guy?” a woman’s voice piped up from a distance.

Kakashi’s head snapped up at the question, for she could only be referring to one person. A friend. A dear friend, one whom he hadn’t seen in too long, he realized with a start. His feet moved automatically toward the source of the question as the ‘wood guy’ mumbled a soft response that wasn’t half as obnoxious as the rude inquiry.

“What was your name?” she continued. “Tomiko? Tamaki?”

“Tenzō,” Kakashi cut in, dropping his hand upon his friend’s shoulder.

The girl, a decently pretty thing with big blue eyes and curling brown hair, gasped in shock. “Hokage-sama!” she squeaked, clearly surprised to see him there.

“Actually, no,” he responded brightly. “You must have me confused with someone else. About yey tall—“ he held his hand up to his eyes, “—blonde, irritating, saved the world.”

“Kakashi-senpai!” Tenzō exclaimed, as surprised as the girl but hiding it better. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Kakashi carried on.

“Actually, I was just—“ the girl began.

They both looked at her with practiced steely Anbu stares, bleached of all emotion. Kakashi knew the effect of such a stare, but thanks to his new prescription, he didn’t care anymore. The girl paled and tore her purse off the table, then bolted for the door.

They laughed.

**  
  
  
**


	7. White Dove

The God Tree had changed Tenzō, and not in a good way. Through it, Tenzō’s only true happiness had been tarnished. The Tree was a derivation of chakra and life, so closely related to the Mokuton that Tenzō couldn’t help but compare the two. After the crisis ended, he could remember everything that had happened to him in high definition. He remembered being nothing in a world of nothing. He remembered crushing the poor little seedling in his palms. He remembered forgetting himself, struggling with whom he was and where he belonged. He remembered his body being wielded against his friends, his ability betraying him to obey the whims of his foe.

And, too, he remembered Kakashi, there at the end. The Infinite Tsukuyomi had been a cruel glimmer of fantasy. For Tenzō, all it had done was accentuate how far out of reach happiness remained. Tenzō was barely a blip on Kakashi’s radar. Like hell his senpai would want him _that_ way.

After the war, Tenzō had been trembling and shell shocked. He’d gone back to his sparsely furnished apartment alone and aching. He’d curled up into a ball and done nothing but shake and weep for days, still grasping at the shreds of his own identity, struggling to keep them together lest they fall away whilst he slept. It didn’t help that the closest thing he had to a name wasn’t real either. It was one poor, lonely girl’s misguided hope for a long lost brother. It was the only name given to him in love, so it remained the most dear. It was a tenuous connection though, and after his ordeal during the war, Tenzō was worried he might lose touch with even that.

In the days that followed the end of the war, however, no one thought twice about him. Naruto had saved the world and naturally attracted all of the acclaim. Sasuke had received a mind-boggling pardon and dove into the wilderness, seeking elusive redemption. In the feverish summer after a near-death experience for many, most of the Konoha shinobi paired off and married, more aware of their mortality than ever before. Tenzō himself hadn’t seen that happen. One day he’d see them alone, then next there was a kid, and him left wondering how the heck it had happened so fast. He’d managed to make Naruto’s wedding somewhere in there. Between Naruto and Hinata both, neither of them would leave out the erstwhile captain of Team Kakashi.

Kakashi might have remembered him in the days that followed, but it wasn’t to be. The moment Tsunade could _stand_ without help, Kakashi was shoved into a council chamber where he was berated until his ears turned red and had the red hat unceremoniously dumped upon his head. Not one for shoddy performance, Kakashi had repurposed his energies toward solidifying the relations among the Five Great Nations.

Kakashi also wasn’t one to sit comfortably in the seat of power. Every free moment he had was devoted to apprenticing Naruto. Kakashi wasn’t going to be Hokage a moment longer than he absolutely had to. But still, in the past several years, Kakashi hadn’t had a lot of time for reminiscing with old friends. Or _any_ time, really.

Tenzō had learned early, though, the price of trying to have friendships. Everyone he’d ever tried to care about was targeted, from the kids in the glass tanks to Yukimi of the Fuma clan, so he’d learned to keep his distance. He’d promised Yukimi they’d meet again, but he didn’t intend to keep that promise. For her safety. Mostly.

Kakashi was, as ever, the exception to the rule. Ever since he’d disobeyed his orders and allowed Kakashi to live, he’d more or less gotten used to the fact. Kakashi was special. For years now, Tenzō had done his best to straddle the line of _too close_ and _too far._ Kakashi was an inspiring presence; anyone would be foolish not to crave that. And yet, Tenzō maintained the sinking sense that if he got too close to his senpai, something terrible would happen.

Because something terrible always _did_.

So when Kakashi ascended the Hokage Tower and donned the Hat, Tenzō was both dismayed and elated. Up there, Kakashi was safe from Tenzō’s apparent curse. But, too, he was forever unreachable. So be it. The years that followed were difficult in a lot of ways. Tenzō was Anbu trained. He’d get over it. He didn’t need the fancy new medic Shinobi Ino had trained. He didn’t need their _meds_.

What he needed was to love growing things again. The thought alone made his heart break. Since his ordeal, Tenzō was starved of inspiration. He felt no more passion for his gift. He was as dead inside as driftwood.

And then, suddenly, Kakashi was just  _there_.

* * *

He was pretty sure his face was as blank as he intended as Kakashi invited himself to sit down across from him in the booth. He leaned back, twining his arms together, adopting that casual, bored expression Tenzō knew him for best. The sight alone was enough to calm him somewhat. The girl from before was an annoyance that he didn’t know how to ditch. It wasn’t in him to be impolite. People had questions about the Mokuton, so he did his best to answer. “What was _that_ about?” Kakashi queried.

“Curious passerby,” Tenzō shrugged off. “Hungry?” He waved the menu in Kakashi’s direction.

“Hmm…” Kakashi scanned the room. What he was looking for was Tenzō’s best guess. “I wasn’t, but then my stomach remembered I hadn’t eaten anything all day. Thanks for the invite.”

“Of course, senpai,” Tenzō murmured, basking in the welcome presence of another’s company. And someone who wasn’t babbling incessantly about the ability that now brought him emotional pain to even consider.

“How are things?” Kakashi inquired as he perused the restaurant’s offerings.

“Good,” he lied.

Kakashi glanced at him over the edge of the menu. He didn’t comment further. “Hmm. I can’t decide if I want fried rice or white rice.”

Tenzō frowned. Something in the way he said it, or perhaps a specific word in the phrasing… seemed too familiar. “Both,” he mumbled offhandedly, disoriented by the sense of deja vu.

“Hm? Both for me, or both for you?”

Tenzō stared. It clicked. He’d dreamed this, long ago when he was imprisoned by the Tree. For one horrifying moment, Tenzō was forced to consider if he might still be dreaming. He felt the edges of a panic attack. Heart racing, chest constricting, making it hard to breathe. His eyes darted back and forth, noting the exits in case he needed a quick escape to save embarrassment. “Um…” he managed lamely. He’d forgotten how the dream had gone, and so he found himself at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say?

“You okay, Tenzō?” Kakashi wondered aloud. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you in a while.” He snapped the menu shut and leaned across the table, leering. “Seeing someone?”

Tenzō was so startled by the question that it grounded him. He laughed, the panic dispelled. He took a deep breath and sighed. “No. You’ve just been too busy to notice me. I’ve been here the whole time.”

Kakashi’s gaze dropped to the tabletop. His fingers drummed on the wood grain. _Fleur de lis,_ Tenzō noted as he watched the flickering movement, bewildered by the similarities between now and _back then_. “Sorry, Tenzō,” Kakashi mumbled miserably after a time.

He hadn’t expected an apology. “I didn’t mean it as an accusation, senpai. I’m sor—“

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Kakashi interrupted. “I quit. Yesterday, in fact. I’ll have both, as you suggested. And get whatever you want. I’m paying for this.” He flipped open the menu again. “And mongolian beef, and miso ramen, and steamed dumplings, too. What will you have?” His eyes flickered upward, matching dark irises, neither covered now for the absence of the Sharingan. It was a welcome change. He blinked once, twice, waiting for Tenzō to comment on the order, as if announcing he’d just stepped down from kage status was as interesting as thirty days of the same weather.

“You quit?” he parroted back. Kakashi nodded once. His expression was resolute. Oh _yes_ , he’d quit. And by the looks of it, he wasn’t going to change his mind. “Why?”

“Someone finally gave me advice that seemed worth listening to.”

“And he told you to quit?”

“No. Actually he called me old.”

“That sounds like… an insult, not advice.” Tenzō watched Kakashi carefully, but the man didn’t so much as flinch.

“You probably had to have been there,” Kakashi dismissed, flapping the menu. “What are you having?”

The repeated question reminded him of something else out of place. “Senpai, I can afford my own meal.” Kakashi nodded absentmindedly again. Tenzō waited for him to rescind his offer to pay. Kage he might be—might have been—but Kakashi’s money kept mysteriously disappearing. He survived just on the edge of poverty. The only personal effects he ever spent his money on were Jiraiya’s Icha Icha books, but he’d long since acquired every novel. Tenzō didn’t know where Kakashi’s earnings ended up, but Tenzō himself was probably the richest man in Konoha. He’d been offered remediations for his treatment as a child—a sizable sum of money, both as an apology and an intense effort to keep him quiet—and he’d enjoyed considerable success as an Anbu operative. Furthermore, Tenzō rarely spent his money on anything, and he didn’t have a mysterious source to send his wealth.

When Kakashi didn’t say anything further, Tenzō lowered his voice. “Senpai, you almost always talk me into paying.”

He nodded again. “I know, Tenzō.”

“Then…?”

He stopped, peering at him from beneath his brows. “ _I_ want to pay for _you_ this time.”

“Why?”

He sighed heavily. “Tenzō. In all honesty, I’ve just now, at this exact moment in my life, realized just how badly I needed someone to just sit there where you’re sitting and bicker with me about what we’re eating and who’s paying. It’s nice to have a normal conversation for a change.”

It sounded too close to the infinite dream for Tenzō to stand it any longer. There was some higher power at work on this restaurant table. “Can I ask you something?” he chanced.

“As long as it doesn’t include ‘Hokage-sama,’ or the word ‘why,’ I don’t see why not.”

“What did _you_ see in the Infinite Tsukuyomi?”

Kakashi sat straighter. He silently closed the menu and set it down. His fingers pressed into the wood grain. They stared at each other for a long, long time. For a hanging moment, Tenzō was worried he’d pressed just a little too hard. “That’s a very personal question, Tenzō,” Kakashi uttered quietly. “You know that the infinite dream showed a person his or her most intimate desires?”

“You don’t have to answer,” Tenzō dodged. “I was just wondering.”

Kakashi nodded, and chose not to answer.

He shouldn’t have asked. He could see it now. No man wanted to share his most personal desires with another, and Kakashi was so private already. He was probably the least likely to broadcast what he’d seen in the illusion, least of all with a friend he hadn’t seen for the better part of two years. “I think I’m just going to order this crab dish and double the order of dumplings,” Tenzō said, turning the topic of conversation back to neutral ground.

“Perfect.”

**  
  
**


	8. Poor Misguided Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter today. :) I'm feeling generous.

They spent much of the meal in silence, a grim resonance ruining the memory of Tenzō’s dream. It only added to his sense of malaise. He wondered if the universe meant it as a cruel joke. It was as if his brightest fantasy had been taken from him and desecrated as the Mokuton had been. Kakashi was there, sitting across from him. Half of the words were the same, but the warmth and intimacy from his dream were starkly absent. Instead Kakashi dodged most of Tenzō’s questions and had little to say. Eventually, Tenzō accepted the fact that Kakashi simply didn’t want to talk and fell silent himself. 

After the meal, their eyes wandered around the restaurant—another similarity to the illusion. Tenzō mourned the distance, more miserable with every passing moment. His eyes settled upon the golden fleur de lis carved into the wood and stayed there. He shouldn’t have ever entertained the notion. Now if only the check would come. Then they could pay and be on their way. Maybe he should offer to pay again, just in case he longer wanted to. By now, Kakashi surely regretted sitting down. 

“Tenzō.” His voice jarred Tenzō from his dark thoughts. He looked up. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he lied. 

He tilted his head and gave him a look. Too late, he realized his mistake. Kakashi had several years on him in Anbu. It was foolish of him to think he could lie. Kakashi knew. He saw right through him. “You can go, if you want,” Tenzō amended. “I can settle the bill if you want to get out of here.”

His expression dissolved into confusion. “Why would I want to do that? I haven’t seen you in almost two years.”

“You just seem…”

“Quiet,” he finished for him.

“Yes,” he breathed, relieved.

“I don’t expect you to understand right away,” Kakashi told him with a smile. “I’ve been poked, prodded, nagged, badgered, and Naruto’d for the better part of the past two years. It’s nice just to enjoy the quiet, and to hear someone call me something other than ‘Hokage-sama.’ I’m having the best night of my life. Trust me.”

 _I’m having the best night of my life._ His pulse quickened, for an entirely different reason this time. “Oh,” he said, smiling for real this time. “That’s a relief.”

“Sorry. I’m distracted. I’m not giving you the attention you deserve.” He leaned forward over the table upon his elbows. “How are you, Tenzō?”

He smiled and reminded him, “You already asked me that. I told you I’m fine.”

“I know I did,” he said cheerfully. “It’s just that I know you lied.”

Tenzō startled, mentally kicking himself. _Of course_ Kakashi knew that he’d lied. He fidgeted and looked away. He was not about to admit to any of the issues he suffered, least of all to him. “Ah. Well.” He scratched at his temple, looking for an excuse. Then he realized an excuse was the same as a lie. If he lied to Kakashi again, it might well be the decline of their friendship. 

“Tell you what,” Kakashi broke in, distracting him from his turmoil. “How about you tell me what’s really bothering you, and I’ll tell you what I saw in the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Answer for answer. Sound fair?” 

Tenzō thought about it. For a long time. As he considered it, Kakashi waited patiently. The bill came and was carried off with a too-large pile of bills upon it. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry. A few moments later, he took a long swallow of his ice water and then shifted back into a comfortable position upon the bench. He didn’t press. In the end, the promise of knowledge about Kakashi's deepest desires won out over his own insecurity. “I’ll tell you,” Tenzō said at last. “But not here.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They left the restaurant together. The sky was darkening, blasting colors across the horizon. “It’s kind of a long walk,” Kakashi warned him.

“I don’t mind,” Tenzō mumbled. 

* * *

 

Kakashi’s entire universe revolved around only three places: Hokage Tower, his house, and the Memorial Stone. The rest of the world was as transient as the man himself. Those three points remained, except that yesterday the tower began to mean less than it had before. The memorial was an inappropriate place for a personal conversation. Though Kakashi never let anyone into his house, it was really the only option, so that was where he led Tenzō.

But as he pushed open the front door, he was struck by an unexpected bout of self consciousness. Tenzō had style and class. Though he wasn’t related to the Shodaime, to Kakashi he may as well have been. He probably lived in some self constructed, glorious palace in the middle of a well manicured garden. Kakashi lived in a stuffy, dank apartment and he didn’t care much for keeping it clean or organized. It smelled of sour laundry and dirty dishes. And he'd missed trash day. Again. Too late now. “Eh, don’t mind the mess,” he muttered. He reached in and flicked the light switch, then flattened himself against the door to allow Tenzō to walk past. 

Tenzō made it as far as the kitchen and stopped, waiting for direction. Kakashi gestured toward the kitchen table, flicking on another light along the way. He moved aside some old dishes and brushed aside some crumbs. Remnants of a hasty dinner after a long day, after which he’d promptly passed out and forgotten all about it. “Sorry,” he muttered again. 

Tenzō wasn’t watching the dishes, though. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere, which only heightened Kakashi’s concern. It wasn't like Tenzō to be distracted, nervous, or distant. Kakashi recognized all of the signs of depression and anxiety. Had he really been so far removed from his closest friends that he hadn’t even noticed that this one was practically destroying himself? 

More worrisome… had _anyone_ noticed? 

Tenzō suffered in silence a moment longer, until Kakashi gently interrupted his thoughts. “Can I get you something to drink?” he offered.

Tenzō ignored it, but the interruption served its purpose. “I don’t know who I am,” he finally said. 

Kakashi frowned, folding one arm over the other on the table. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning, Tenzō,” he admitted reluctantly. “Perhaps you could be more clear.”

“That’s it, _right there._  'Tenzō.' That’s not even my name. None of them are.”

Kakashi’s head tilted to the side, already certain of where this was going. “It’s the name you chose,” he tried to tell him. “Most people don’t get to choose. Some might envy you that option.” _How many times did I wish I wasn't 'Hatake?'_

He nodded, seeming to accept that encouragement. But he wasn’t done. “I can’t _create_ ,” he mourned, the tinge of emotions creeping into his tone. He sounded forlorn. He loosed a sigh, tipping his head backward, allowing his fingertips to dangle at his sides. “I lost it during the war. The Mokuton, I mean.”

Kakashi might have been more concerned. Being Hokage made him keenly aware, however, of just how untrue that was. “Tenzō… I do read the mission reports, you know. I think I’d notice a headliner as significant as ‘Konoha’s only Mokuton-user no longer has ability.’”

His head crashed forward into his palms. Both elbows rapped into the table with a loud thump. The cage of his hands forced the bangs into a mess between his fingers. “No,” he lamented. “The art of it. The… the…” he groaned miserably. “I can’t possibly make you understand. Nevermind,” he finished on a mighty exhalation.

Kakashi’s heart broke to hear him so upset, even if he wasn’t quite sure of the reason yet. He did know the look of one fighting inner demons. Whatever had a hold on Tenzō, it was the kind of conflict that came from one’s own self, one he’d been carrying all along. Kakashi knew a thing or two about such things. “You don’t have to tell me, Tenzō,” Kakashi assured him. “I know what it’s like to have secrets. I just went to submit my brain for scrounging yesterday, in fact, just so I could get some sleep.” He tried out a reassuring chuckle for good measure, and was rewarded with a pair of dark eyes peeking from beneath his splayed hands. 

“You went to the psych ward?” he asked carefully. Kakashi nodded. “What was it like?”

Kakashi shrugged uncomfortably. “About what you’d expect. Bunch of people who know how to dig around in your brain and don’t seem at all bothered by it. I pushed Ino out of my head.” For which he probably should apologize later, if he got around to it.

He straightened in his chair, suddenly interested. “I thought about going, but I don’t like the thought of what kinds of things they’ll find in here.”

“Or if they’ll even like you when they’re done?” he empathized.

“Exactly!” He smiled suddenly, miraculously put at ease. Then, he nodded, as if finding some inner determination that allowed him to continue. “I was… captured during the war.” His mouth twisted on the word. Kakashi understood. For one such as either of them to have actually been taken alive would seem shameful. No man wished to say such a thing aloud. “They used me. I almost lost myself. My names all ran together. Kinoe. Yamato. Tenzō.” He hissed in a deep breath. “Hashirama.” He smudged at his chin, his eyes drooping. The name didn’t bring him any enjoyment. “I felt as if he were reclaiming what I stole from him, as if I might have only been a… a skeleton for him to rebuild himself on.” He frowned, his brow furrowing as he fell into his own thoughts for a telling moment. He laughed once. It was a hollow, tortured sound. “I know it sounds stupid—“

“It’s not,” Kakashi assured him sharply, finally starting to see where the conflict was. “It’s not,” he repeated, gentler this time. 

Tenzō exhaled. He held his hands out, palms up, staring at them each in turn. “They stole my ability and bastardized it,” he explained, his voice strained. “It’s like… like it… it betrayed me.” His knuckles rapped the wood as his hands dropped. He shook his head in disbelief. “And now I hate it. And it was all I ever had to begin with. I don’t even have my own name.” 

“Tenzō…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say that would fix it. His friend just looked at him, blinking. Expecting something. Only yesterday he’d had a city full of jounin ready to obey his every command. But he didn’t know what words he could offer to make any of this okay. In the end, he went with the first thing that came to mind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you sooner.”

“No, it’s okay,” he dismissed. “You were busy. It’s not your job to watch over me or anything.”

“It’s not okay,” Kakashi insisted. “You’re my friend. I could have done better. I can’t take it back now, but I’ll do whatever I can to make up for it. If you ever need anything, name it. I’m not a kage anymore, but I know of a couple that owe me favors. One of them even lives nearby.” He forced a smile onto his face, but it felt strange there. “Actually,” he added, a thought occurring that might help. “I met the Shodaime.”

“And?” His voice was strained.

Kakashi sensed he’d made the right choice, but whatever he was about to say was either going to shatter Tenzō or relieve some of the pressure. “You two are nothing alike.” He shrugged, trying to seem casual. “He reminded me of Naruto, a little.”

“Oh.” He cracked a smile. “Thanks, senpai.”

Kakashi nodded, sensing that this topic wasn’t quite closed, but that it was for the night. He owed Tenzō an answer in return. “You wanted to know what I saw in the infinite dream,” he began. Tenzō sat straighter, leaned forward a little. It made Kakashi wonder why he wanted to know so badly. And, too, he wasn’t proud of how he’d held that fact over his head to make him talk. The answer would surely disappoint. “I didn’t,” he revealed at last. Tenzō visibly deflated. “Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura and I were shielded from the genjutsu. I’m not surprised you didn’t know. The details of that story get lost in the glory of Naruto’s and Sasuke’s efforts. I lost my Sharingan in the events that followed, so most people tend to leave my part out. It adds disappointment to an otherwise heroic tale.” 

“Oh.” He did, indeed, sound pretty disappointed.

“Why?” Kakashi prodded.

“No reason,” Tenzō shrugged. They stared at one another for a moment, Anbu training teasing around the carefully erected barriers of equivalent training. Both were just as cracked yet solid as the other. It was obvious they had issues, but equally as obvious that they were fiercely protective of whatever they were. “Well,” Tenzō breathed out at last. “I better be going.” He stood.

Kakashi nodded once. “Good to see you again, Tenzō. Stop by any time.”

“Thank you, Kakashi-senpai,” he murmured graciously. 

Kakashi walked him to the door. Before he could exit, though, Kakashi barred his way with one arm. “Hey,” he interjected. “If you don’t mind me asking… what did _you_ see in the Infinite Tsukuyomi?”

Tenzō’s eyes flashed, enough to flag the lie as he uttered it. “Nothing.” He shrugged. “I was out. Unconscious.”

Kakashi leaned in close, trying to see into his soul, hunting for demons deep within. Tenzō shut his eyes and went rigid. “Well, if you ever want to tell me what you really saw,” he said softly. “I’ll be here.”


	9. Boy in Waiting

Tenzō left Kakashi’s feeling less broken, though not quite whole. More importantly though, that last moment was rife with tension that hadn’t been there before. The second his arm fell across Tenzō’s path, the timbre of his voice when he said ‘hey,’ had Tenzō’s nerves ablaze. And then when he’d leaned in, Tenzō had been almost certain Kakashi meant to kiss him, despite having no reason to think that. 

 _My mind is playing tricks on me,_ he decided. He’d been alone and tiptoeing the edge of mental instability for a long time already. It was a logical next step to believe his fantasies were flickering to life on top of it. _It’s PTSD,_ he told himself. _It’s just my subconscious looking for an escape from hell._ It would be pleasant to believe that Kakashi might have feelings for him, too, but it was far more likely that it was exactly what it looked like. Kakashi was only worried about him, had granted him the listening ear he’d needed. That was all.

But it didn’t stop him from _wanting_ it to be true. And even that fragile fragment of hope was enough to make today seem a little better than yesterday. After all, he’d gotten to spend most of it with Kakashi. And, he’d been able to finally share his burdens with another—and someone he trusted—which already felt better. Feeling lighter than he had in months, Tenzō settled into bed and fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

* * *

 

The next morning was the first one since the war he woke up feeling unpolluted. He inhaled a deep breath of fresh air, breathed it out, savoring the taste of it upon his tongue. Sweet. Fresh. When he rose from bed he felt pounds lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted off of his chest. Even if his fantasies about Kakashi were unfounded, Tenzō had to admit that his infatuation with senpai was doing him a world of good. 

He stepped out onto the back porch, allowing the breeze to play with unbrushed and unkempt hair. He shut his eyes, reveling in the feel of the cool morning air upon his face. Today would be better, he vowed. He flexed his fingers, a nervous habit he’d had ever since he could remember, a reassurance that the chakra was still there. Ever since he’d come into possession of the Mokuton, every day had felt a bit dreamlike. He invariably awoke with the concern that it might have deserted him overnight. It’d been different, since he started hating it; when he rubbed his fingertips against his palms, it was more like trying to smudge away the taint, testing to see if that foulness was still there. Usually it was. 

Today it wasn’t. 

His eyelashes fluttered open, his heart nearly breaking at the realization. That instantaneous epiphany froze time. The world came into sharp focus. The colors of sunrise were the most beautiful colors he’d ever seen. The chilly breeze was like the first breath of life. The wood beneath the soles of his feet was his connection to earth itself. The birdsong in his ears was the sweetest melody to have ever played, in any dimension, in any span of time. His mouth fell open. He expected the word ' _gods'_ to blurt itself, for the sheer, otherworldly wonder of this moment. What he whispered instead was, _“Kakashi,”_ in the same instant a single tear of pure joy liberated itself from one eye. 

 _Create_ , his chakra beckoned. 

He squeezed his fist closed, reconnecting with something profoundly precious, lost for years. He kissed his own knuckles and shut his eyes, silently thanking the gods for whatever was happening right there in that moment. Whatever the reason, the previous night, Kakashi’s support, the imagined intimacy… these things together mixed into the perfect cocktail of inspiration, and suddenly Tenzō and the Mokuton were one again. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms together and released the floodgate. Chakra, pure as honey and twice as sweet, sang through his body, as joyful as ever. He choked out a sob of relief that it was even there, unsullied by the atrocities of the previous war. He took only a minute to savor it, to cherish a long overdue reunion.

And then, he lost himself the right way. Straight from the heart, fed by the soul, and made with his own hands, Tenzō _created_. He took his time, crafted slowly, pouring every ounce of artistry he could into every leaf and petal, for he was yet haunted by the very real fear that this might be the one and only time he could reach his true heart. He wanted to leave a lasting impression, a masterpiece beautiful enough to exorcise the troubles of the past. _If this is it,_ he thought, _let it be worth the price._

He didn’t know how long he worked, only that when he was done, he felt perfectly amazing. He kept his eyes closed a moment longer for a very specific reason. He wanted to remember the darkness exactly as it was. He took a second to recall the time when his body was fused to the machinations of Zetsu, back when his consciousness was fading. When he didn’t know who he was, and this was all he had. He remembered the shivering green leaves in a sea of endless black. _That is what I might have been, forever, if not for Kakashi,_ he thought. Whatever awaited him on the other side of the darkness of his eyelids was because of his senpai. 

He opened his eyes. The world exploded in colors, and more than one tear was shed for the wonder of it. He’d outdone himself. Flowering trees filled his backyard, wrapped around with moss and ivy in a myriad shades of emerald. Red and white camellias, bleeding hearts, snapdragons, zinnias, morning glory… color everywhere. More than he’d ever seen in one place. Trembling with exhaustion and happiness both, Tenzō sank to the top step of his back porch, dumbfounded. 

He stared for over an hour, blinking back a periodic bout of tears, sometimes shaking his head in disbelief. Occasionally he broke his own silence with exclamations of awe. “I can’t believe it,” or simply, “Wow.”

When the shock had finally worn off, he leaned back on his hands on the porch, grinning like a fool. One thought solidified in his mind. Whether or not it made sense didn’t matter anymore. The truth was the truth, and even if he kept it to himself forever and ever, it pleased Tenzō to know it, brought him peace to accept it. Kakashi’s presence in his life had brought the majestic wonder of the Mokuton back to Tenzō. That alone would have been enough. If he hadn’t already known it before, he certainly did now. 

He was in love with Hatake Kakashi.

He threw back his head and laughed with pure, undiluted joy.


	10. Neon Sky

The sound of the door closing, as Kakashi would come to find out, meant more than he thought it did at first. At first, it was only that; a door closing. The tortured creak of a rusty hinge, the soft click of the latch. An unexpected sigh of relief; no matter the person, Kakashi wasn’t fond of company. His apartment was his lonely place. This was where he could not be bothered, by law. None was allowed to enter here without permission—even if they did sometimes anyway. Home was a private place. This one was his. Solely his. 

He turned away from the door, away from Tenzō, and relaxed. It _was_ nice to see him. And, he was glad to have been some comfort for his friend. He took a few easier breaths, falling into usual routine. He scratched at his ass as he crossed the floor. Tore off his shirt as he made it to his room. Threw it onto the floor with the satisfaction that no one would tell him not to. He fell backward upon his futon, arms splayed out to the sides. Hair flipped into his eyes. He peeked between the strands at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

It didn’t.

Gradually, the pleasant feeling of banishing company retreated and the sleeplessness remained. Kakashi’s head turned upon the pillow, and he glared at his carelessly tossed shirt as if it might somehow to be to blame. _Now what?_ He wondered irritably. The white noise of home silence pervaded the room—the tick of the clock, the electrical hum of plugged in appliances, the breeze and _click-click-click_ of the oscillating fan. It seemed even quieter in his apartment than usual, though it was just as empty as before. 

_Lonely._

The word answered any question he might have had before he could wonder. His apartment seemed a lonelier place than before because the unbroken solitude of it had been shattered by an invited visitor. Now without Tenzō there, the quiet, hollow nature of his home was more pronounced. Instead of merely ‘quiet,’ his apartment was an echoing hollow hall unfit for habitation. The kind of lonely that swallows a person inside and turns him into a wraith. 

It clawed at his heart. He’d been alone for as long as he could remember, mostly by choice. He’d had reasons. Noble reasons. His company was cursed. Everyone who got too close befell tragedy. First his mother. Then his father. Then Obito, and Rin. Minato-sensei. Yugao lost Hayate soon after their working relationship became a closer platonic friendship. Gai’s father. Sasuke—though he came back—and Jiraiya. Obito and Minato-sensei again. It was safer for him not to get too close. Safer for him to find affection on the invincible pages of Jiraiya’s novels. Solitude was Kakashi’s armor, and over time it became as comfortable as the mask that covered his face.

But there was a recent shift in his perspective. He’d just traded a busy, necessary public life for quiet retirement. Only yesterday, his apartment was his sanctuary. It was the single place in his world where he could enjoy just a few moments of solace before going back to his daily routine. Now, on the other hand… silence wasn’t his coveted option. It was his sentence. 

It had taken him more than thirty years to make some kind of peace with himself. And now that he had, he realized something problematic. He didn’t _want_ to be alone anymore. What would it be like to choose his own company?  _You have to love yourself before you can love another. And when you do, think long and hard about it. If you could pick one person in the entire world to spend every day of the rest of your life with, who would it be?_ The fortune teller’s words suddenly made a lot more sense. He didn’t necessarily want a _relationship--_ or rather, no relationship would ever want him _\--_ but he could at least admit that the silence of his apartment was unwelcome. 

He didn’t sleep. 

* * *

 

“Yo!” he greeted when Tenzō opened the door. 

Tenzō’s expression brightened. “Kakashi-senpai! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you out this way?” He looked past Kakashi, toward the way he’d come. 

Kakashi understood the momentary confusion. He lived way on the other side of Konoha. Showing up randomly on Tenzō’s doorstep was against all the odds. Time to employ a good lie. He scratched his neck and smiled. “Well, as it happens, my apartment needs to be fumigated, so I had to vacate for a few days. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather spend the weekend with than my dear friend Tenzō. If it’s not too much trouble, would it be okay if I stayed here? At least until the air clears and I can go back home?”

For a moment, Tenzō only stared. Kakashi worried his friend might be just as effective at wheedling out lies from truths. He’d been counting on the opposite. There had been times before when Kakashi had been able to flatter his junior into paying for lunch or taking up unpalatable tasks so that he himself could get out of them. Now, heading toward the twilight of his life and feeling lonely, Kakashi regretted doing that. He didn’t have many that he considered true friends. He shouldn’t have squandered them.

After a minute, Tenzō smiled and stepped aside, opening the door wider. “My honor, senpai. You can stay as long as you like.” 

“Thanks.” He stepped across the threshold of Tenzō’s home—which was surprisingly small, after all the buildup in his mind. A studio, half the size of Kakashi’s and sparsely furnished. 

“Was it mice?” Tenzō wondered conversationally.

“Hm?” Kakashi was briefly confused, forgetting about his lie entirely as he fretted. He shouldn’t have imposed on Tenzō. The man barely had enough space as it was.

“You said your apartment was being fumigated. For mice, or something else?”

Kakashi turned and leaned against a wall for lack of an available chair. “Spiders,” he replied absently. 

“Spiders,” he echoed. “Didn’t you bring a bag?”

“Hm?”

“You said you’d be staying a few days. Don’t you need an overnight bag?”

“I don’t need much,” he shrugged. 

Tenzō nodded, looking around. “Well. I can give you my bed and take the floor.”

Kakashi could never remember feeling like such an ass. All throughout their friendship he’d taken advantage of this man. He’d manipulated him into paying for meals. He’d demanded more of his skills than he rightly should have. He’d totally taken Tenzō’s friendship for granted. Now, in that small, cramped space, he worried that he’d contributed to his inability to afford a larger place. “I’m intruding,” Kakashi backed off. “I can ask Naruto,” he lied, “if it’s too much trouble. I don’t want to impose.” Yep. He felt like a total asshole.

“You’re not intruding. I could build a bigger place if I wanted, you know.”

 _True_ , Kakashi realized. It didn’t lessen his anguish for being a bad friend, though. The realization had already happened. The feeling remained.

He went on, “I had a bigger place before. Didn’t like it. It seems so empty when I’m the only one in it.” He smiled to reassure. “I don’t mind the floor, really. Sometimes it’s good for my back.” 

“If it won’t be too much trouble... But I’ll take the floor, Tenzō. I appreciate the favor. And I sleep on a futon on the floor at my own place, so it will be just like home.” He pasted a smile upon his face. 

“It’s settled then. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Whatever’s available is fine.”

“There’s a chair out back,” he said, gesturing with a tip of his head. “Take that one with you and I’ll meet you out there.”

“Alright.” He hooked an arm around the chair back. There was only one other door in the place that wasn’t the bathroom. Kakashi assumed it to be the back door and crossed over to it while Tenzō tugged open the refrigerator. Kakashi was still overcome with the sense that he was intruding, though. The thought occurred to him to have a nice chat, finish his drink, thank Tenzō politely and go back to his empty apartment. Maybe all he needed was a bit of voluntary social interaction. Conversation, gossip, sipping a beer and complaining about the younger generation. And then he could go home and be grateful for his own bed and the hum of the electric fan. 

Yep. It was decided. He smiled to himself, feeling better about coming here after all. Perhaps Kakashi was growing as a human being. He could have friends, for reasons other than the fact they were both shinobi. He could drink—he flicked a glance toward Tenzō, pouring something into two plastic cups— _iced tea_ and whine about work. Actually he was quite proud of himself for taking that first step.

Then he pulled open the back door and stepped into what could only be paradise.


	11. Some of Us

Tenzō turned and nearly dropped the iced tea in his mad dash to where Kakashi stood. “Senpai!” he yelped. His friend was staring, wide-eyed and bloodless. He would have dropped the tea, but he’d promised Kakashi a beverage and didn’t want to be a bad host. Kakashi was a kage. If there was something in the backyard in need of killing, Hatake Kakashi could handle it without his interference. So he held onto the tea, trusting him to take care of it, and bumped up next to his shoulder instead, sloshing tea over the sides of the cups. 

He was quiet for a moment. Then, he swallowed and took a breath. He blinked twice, rousing from a state of thrall. “So. This is where summer went,” Kakashi murmured, rich with amusement.

It took Tenzō a second to process what he’d just said. His eyes darted from Kakashi—still staring at the scene beyond—to the backyard. “Ah,” he realized with a small smile. He proffered the tea. Kakashi took it without looking, and sank into his chair the same way. 

Tenzō nurtured a twinge of pride, for it was clear in that moment that Kakashi was admiring his handiwork. For Tenzō, it was an intensely personal thing. He’d never intended to show anyone the spectacle in the backyard. He was an artist, but his creations were private conversations with his gift. Konoha utilized the Mokuton for its needs—for building projects, for Anbu missions, and long ago, for suppression of tailed beasts. The village had no use for his ability to create flowers. That was for himself, and he’d never shared his work with anybody. 

It was only appropriate, though, that Kakashi should see. He had always been Tenzō’s inspiration. He was a part of the reason Tenzō had been able to reconcile himself with the Mokuton. Kakashi was the reason Tenzō continued to love his gift, even when the world and sundry meant to use it as a weapon only. There were darker moments, long ago, when he hadn’t wanted Hashirama’s power. Kakashi had taught him about friendship, shown him there was more to life than the mission. There was more to the Wood Style than as a weapon, too. Like a devoted painter, Tenzō practiced. 

“Did you do this?” Kakashi inquired, still awestruck. 

Tenzō sipped his tea in silence. He nodded once, pleased. He’d been at his most miserable since his technique had betrayed him in the war. It was made only worse by Kakashi’s absence from his life, and accentuated by everyone else’s apparent lack of concern. How quickly events can turn, he reflected. In only the space of a few days, Tenzō was struck by the inspiration he needed, and now Kakashi himself sipped cold tea on his back porch and praised his work. When Kakashi wasn’t looking, he pinched his arm, then sighed with happiness when it did, in fact, hurt. 

Kakashi sighed and leaned back in his chair. He periodically sipped his tea, adding the rattle of ice cubes to the relative quiet. For a long time, they enjoyed a day that was warm for autumn, but not quite hot enough for summer. Beyond Tenzō’s backyard, the leaves were turning, and the chill bite in the air heralded the oncoming march of winter. It was easy to pretend summer was still upon them, looking out upon the bright blooms heavy in the branches and coiling up the trunks. But the scent of cold and the rich fragrance of dying leaves on the breeze said otherwise. Kakashi breathed deeply, and Tenzō observed out of the corner of one eye as his shoulders relaxed and his eyes drifted shut with bliss. “A man could get used to this,” he murmured. 

His heart leapt into his throat. Could this week get any better? First, dinner— _Kakashi had paid!_ —and then a chance to talk in his own private home. Then, a much needed spark of inspiration and the chance to create something glorious. And a fortuitous spider infestation sent his heart’s desire looking for a place to stay for a weekend, and now this? He wasn’t going to say anything, of course, but… this was about as close to heaven as Tenzō was going to get. He sent up a prayer to the gods to let it never end. If the timeline of his lifespan could be peppered with moments just like this one, Tenzō could die a happy man. 

* * *

 

 _Huh. Flowers,_ his mind supplied for the hundredth time. He’d never paid them much mind. Flowers had a certain role in society, and usually in a romantic sense from a man to a woman. They were just one of those aspects of the world that had, like so many other things, fallen into the backdrop. He’d never had an interest in romance, so flowers dropped by the wayside, too. Yet here, he found peace in the colors. In the birdsong. In the comfortable silence that existed between them, the scent of summer dying on the breeze. The familiar yet forgotten taste of iced tea. 

Neither of them said a word. Normally, he’d find that awkward. Every interaction he’d had with people, they’d demanded attention. Prying for secrets. Wondering at his motives. Asking questions, prattling on, inane small talk. Kakashi waited for it, sure that the eventual barrage of questions and gossip was forthcoming, as it had always been. But no, Tenzō kept to himself, content to say nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Kakashi caught him smiling, only a little. Perhaps thinking the same kinds of things.

And he smiled, too, because that was probably it. _He’s thinking the exact same thing._ He’d been gifted with the power the Shodaime had made excessively famous as the tool that shaped the village. He was probably equally exhausted of the questions and the prying. And that was the moment he settled back and sighed the words, “A man could get used to this.” 

Well over an hour passed in complete, blissful silence. Kakashi felt as if he were on vacation. His mind was blessedly blank, freed of all of his duties as Hokage— _Ha, they’ll never even look for me here!_ he realized suddenly. He actually laughed aloud then, reveling in a sweet, sweet private victory. He’d dropped off the map. They’d probably send out a search party to drag him back to duty. Naruto was surely giving them all a headache by now. And the beauty of it was that he didn’t even care. He’d earned a vacation. And he could think of no better way to spend it than this. 

He didn’t want this day to end. 

And then he remembered that he’d signed on to at least two more just like it. After that, he’d have to reevaluate. After all, a lie had gotten him here. But already he didn’t relish the idea of going back to his dark, lonely apartment. 

“So,” Tenzō began as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The rosy colors of the sky added more to the backyard palette. Kakashi had never seen so much color in his life. “Now that you’ve given up Hokage, what are you going to do, Kakashi-senpai?”

“Hmm.” He thought about it. “Actually, I haven’t considered that. I think this is the first time I haven’t had a plan.”

“I see.”

It was the first time either of them had spoken in a long time, and was just enough to rouse Kakashi from his stalled moment in time. He stood and stretched. “Well. It’s been a long day of absolutely nothing. What’s for dinner?” The moment he said it, he silently kicked himself. It seemed that the depth of the how much he’d taken advantage of Tenzō knew no bounds. 

Before he could take it back though, Tenzō turned to him with a smile. “I was just going to go pick up something from town. Any requests?”

“That’s not necessary,” Kakashi replied quickly. “I can just make something with whatever you have here.”

“Hm?” He blinked. “Oh. Well,” he scratched his head, embarrassed. “I don’t stock my kitchen. I tend to be pretty busy, so I don’t really cook.”

Another dagger in the heart. Had he really kept Tenzō so busy that he didn’t even have the time to make his own meals? “Ah,” Kakashi managed, sensing a redemption opportunity. “In that case. I seem to find myself with an inordinate amount of free time on my hands. How about you take the night off. I’ll go get us something to eat.”

He frowned. “It’s no trouble, senpai. Please, you’re my guest.”

He forced a laugh. “Actually, I’m more like your intruder. I insist. You’ve earned it.”

The smile returned. “Alright then. See you when you get back.”


	12. All the Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon's been a good sport and I am so vurry proud. 
> 
> Today you get two chapters. Enjoy. ^_^
> 
> (I expect extra affection now)

_See you when you get back._

The words echoed gently in his mind, warming him from the inside out. It felt almost a bit like… home. Not since he was a child had he experienced the comfort of knowing someone cared if he returned. Each time he shut the door to his apartment in the morning, he left the door unlocked. He had no possessions worth stealing—save a full set of Icha Icha novels, but everyone knows you don’t want used copies of _those_ —and no reason to bother. From the moment the door shut behind him to the moment he returned at the end, time didn’t matter. Start, end, and a bunch of whatever in between. No significance.

Surprisingly, he realized that’s what had been wrong with him. His apartment was an empty, cold box for sleeping. No reason to even return to it anymore. The full set of novels, his only possession worth the word, lay untouched since he’d taken over as Hokage. He had no time for reading, and even if he did, the excessive amount of paperwork made it so the very last thing he wanted to spend his free time on was the written word. 

He wasn’t quite aware that he was smiling as he strode into Konoha proper. He whistled an improvised melody as he pushed open the door to the supermarket. Even the door chime sounded happy to see him. “Yo!” he hollered at the shopkeeper with a hasty wave. He received a wave in return and a quick head nod. It had been quite a long time since he’d been able to walk amongst the civilians. Likely no one recognized him without the robe and hat. He enjoyed the relative anonymity as he added groceries to his basket. Milk. Eggs. Bread. Definitely needed those. Onions and fresh peppers for... something... for dinner.

As he attempted to stuff a round cake for after dinner into the basket, he thought better of it. He returned to the front of the store and switched out the basket for a large cart with wheels. “Needed more than you thought?” the shopkeeper inquired with a polite smile. Same guy who’d worked there for ten years, Kakashi noted. There was a spark of recognition there, now. Apparently he’d remembered. Thankfully, he didn’t ask about village affairs, or how “being Hokage” was. Kakashi was grateful for that. “Yep. I’m completely out of everything. Only realizing it now.”

The store minder chuckled and nodded as Kakashi transferred groceries from the basket to the cart. He put the basket back on its stack and returned to the aisles. Only when he returned to the checkout counter did he realize he’d grabbed way more than enough groceries for two days. With that revelation, his mind already turned over itself, looking for another excuse to avoid his lonely apartment for more than just the weekend. Another thought occurred to him. Oops. “Um, you’re going to laugh but…”

“You don’t have a way to get all these home by yourself, do you?” the shopkeeper asked, already grinning.

“Nope.”

“Happens all the time. Grocery shopping can be a little too exciting, huh?”

Kakashi blinked. He’d never seen it that way. Usually he hated grocery shopping. It was different when you had plans for every bit of food in the cart, he supposed. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“You go ahead and borrow the cart then. I know you’re good for it.” He winked.

“Thanks.”

* * *

 

Kakashi put the groceries away as quietly as he could, hoping not to disturb Tenzō on the back porch while he hid away the excessive amount of food he’d bought. He was in the midst of slicing onions with the beef sizzling away in a pan when Tenzō finally came back inside. “Sun’s down. It’s getting cold,” he announced. The door creaked and shut. “Smells wonderful, senpai. Anything I can do to help?”

“Just sit there and keep me company,” he ordered, pointing with the kitchen knife. “I usually only get to cook for myself, so let me treat you this time.”

* * *

 

Tenzō watched Kakashi prepare food, still basking in the peace of mundane things he’d never known.  All the things he’d never had, never once in his whole life. Company. A home cooked meal. The smell of beef and onions permeating his home. He pinched himself again. Nope, still just as real as before. “Where did you learn how to cook?” he asked conversationally.

He paused, tensing for a moment. Tenzō almost wished for the words back, until Kakashi spoke. “My father wasn’t any good at it, so it was learn how or eat… whatever it was he called his cooking. My mother did all the cooking, and when she died…” he shrugged, poking food around in the pan. 

“Ah,” Tenzō uttered. “Sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Tenzō assured him. “They were your parents.”

He froze again. “Yeah. They were.”

Tenzō fell silent, sorry he’d stirred the memories. “I don’t like going out for food,” Kakashi continued after a brief silence. “Mostly because there are just too many people. And we ate so much takeout when I was growing up that I can’t do it too often. It just…” he shrugged again.

Tenzō knew what he almost said though. _It reminds me of them._ “I’m sorry, senpai,” he said again, really wishing he hadn’t said anything. 

“Don’t be.” He shook the pan, flipping beef and vegetables. At the clang of steel pan against the iron burner grate, he turned to say over his shoulder in a soft voice, “I’ve never told anyone that before.” He turned back to the stove.

Tenzō wasn’t sure what to say. In a situation such as this one, it was customary to offer a personal tidbit of equivalent gravity. Except Tenzō couldn’t remember his parents, if he’d ever had any. It would make sense for him to have been an experiment, intended for a later experiment. A perfect genetic clone to add to later, a husk of a human being without a soul. “I won’t tell anyone,” he murmured instead, wishing he had something worth sharing. 

Kakashi pulled a couple of plates down from the cupboard. He scooped equal portions of rice onto each. Then he used the wooden spoon to push half of what was in the pan over the bed of rice. He slid one in front of Tenzō and set the other down at his space, then procured soy sauce—which Tenzō was sure he didn’t own—and chopsticks. He then retrieved their plastic cups from earlier and refilled them with iced tea. 

“Thanks,” Tenzō offered absentmindedly, admiring his work. He hadn’t tasted it yet, but the smells and the vibrant colors outdid anything he would have brought home from Konoha. “This looks wonderful,” he complimented honestly.

“It’s edible,” he replied humbly. “And the least I could do for letting me stay.”

He met Kakashi’s eyes, intending to say something polite like “it’s not a problem, really.” Whatever words he might have said dried up in his throat and withered away. Kakashi’s mask hung around his throat. Completely careless, as if not a thought was given toward whether or not Tenzō should be allowed to see his face. His posture, his expression, the way his elbow rested on the table were all completely casual. He was looking at the food upon his plate, completely oblivious to the way he’d frozen time across the table. Tenzō stared, his chopsticks forgotten in his hand. At the dimples that his dream had conjured up a long time before, dipping into Kakashi’s cheeks as his lips occasionally twitched while he ate. A nervous habit, perhaps?

After several bites, Kakashi noticed he was staring and paused with his mouth around the ends of his chopsticks. He seemed to realize exactly what the problem was then and smiled sheepishly as he finished his mouthful. Tenzō almost died on the spot. “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice beautified by the removal of the barrier to his lips. Cleaner, more free. “Forgot where I was. I can put it back on if it’d make you more comfortable.”

Tenzō shook his head dumbly. “You’re fine. I mean _. It’s_ fine. Make yourself at home.” Kakashi smiled and carried on as if nothing had happened. “I just thought it’d be more of an ordeal, getting you to take your mask off.” Kakashi’s team had invested a considerable amount of stress into seeing their sensei with his mask off. Yet the mask endured, even as his genin grew up and were promoted and started families of their own. 

“Yeah. Oops.”

And that was it. A new inappropriate thought about senpai that would keep him awake at night, fantasizing about things that could never be.


	13. In My Blood

Kakashi cleaned up after dinner. They parted ways for the next part of the night. Tenzō sat upon his bed and meditated, his eyes serenely closed. Kakashi discovered a forgotten copy of the first of Jiraiya’s Icha Icha books, buried in the bottom of one of his pouches. Elated, he decided to take the opportunity to read. He sat at the kitchen table for lack of alternate seating, reading by the light of the overhead. 

At some point, Tenzō picked himself up off the bed and wordlessly made tea. He set a cup down in front of Kakashi and drank his leaning against the counter. Not a word was said. Kakashi continued reading. And when Tenzō was finished, he put the tea pot and loose leaf away and went right back to where he was. 

Eventually, Kakashi’s eyelids grew heavy. It was a welcome change to need sleep due to eye strain, instead of because of the onset of a tension headache or muscle fatigue. Tenzō’s back was to him, his shoulders rising and falling with the gentle oscillations of sleep. He blinked, surprised, then looked at the clock. It was after midnight. He hadn’t noticed the time flying by as quickly as it apparently had. The realization relaxed him. Total bliss. He’d been allowed to read, uninterrupted, for several hours. He’d finally been able to completely lose himself to his favorite hobby.

_If you could pick one person in the entire world to spend every day of the rest of your life with, who would it be?_

Kakashi stared, watching Tenzō’s bare shoulders rise and fall. _Oh._ It was the only fully formed word that he could come up with. The rest of it was a world stopping sense of vertigo, and all he could do at all was stare, his own silhouette against the fluorescent bulb in the kitchen behind him casting a peaceful shadow across the man’s back. He kept staring, blinking dumbly as a million tiny fragments slowly pieced themselves together.

The moment he’d seen the kid from Root. 

Sparing his life.

Being spared in return.

When he found out just who “Yamato” was when he took over Kakashi’s team. 

The way Tenzō caved to flattery and compliments.

His interest in the infinite dream.

The way the secrets came pouring out when they were alone. 

How he didn’t want to tell about his own dreams. 

The comfortable silence. 

The way he’d stared at Kakashi’s bare face.

 _Oh,_ he thought again. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought it before. Probably a hundred reasons. The rarity of relationships between men. The fact that no one had ever shown a serious interest in him before. He frowned, settling on the reason that was probably most correct. _Because I’ve been rotten._ Because Kakashi had carelessly shed every connection he’d had with another person to avoid hurting. And being hurt. Because Kakashi was certain that his affection was a cursed thing. 

He couldn’t be completely certain that that was what was happening. Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, Kakashi laid himself down in the prepared bedroll upon the floor. He propped that theory up in the front of his thoughts and faced Tenzō’s back. He attuned his senses to the other man, exploring the potential of that one, insane rogue postulate. His eyes traced along the line of Tenzō’s body, draped in a single thin blanket. The toes peeking out the bottom. How his body bent, jackknifed. The lines of muscle in his shoulders, and the well defined dip of his spine. The curve of his ear. The taut line in his neck. He looked like he’d curled himself around something precious and protected it even now as he slept. 

Kakashi shut his eyes, both troubled and comforted by what he might have been learning. Without the visual to distract him, his ears attuned to the steady rhythm of Tenzō’s breathing. The sound of it gradually dulled as the sound of his own pulse pounding replaced it. _Oh_ kept echoing in his head, and with every resonant beat he grew more comfortable with the whole idea. 

 _I could get used to this._ His eyelids fluttered open, realizing he’d finally managed to string together actual words into a coherent thought. While he’d been lost to his thinking, Tenzō had turned over. He looked peaceful as he slept. The tension had left the lines of his face alone. Kakashi found himself smiling to see him that way. He’d had a rough go of it, too. They both deserved a little peace and quiet. 

His eyes drifted closed again. His pulse calmed toward a more manageable, steady thrum. By the time sleep claimed Hatake Kakashi, it didn’t matter if Tenzō was in love with him or not. He fell into a deep slumber, left alone by any nightmares or the cruel images of dreams, the most restful sleep he’d had in decades. He slept without a worry for the next morning. Without concern for who might die tonight as a result of his actions, or from his inaction. Without the ghosts of his past haunting his every step. 

He slept remembering Tenzō’s shoulders rise and fall in an infinite loop, grateful that the man was breathing. Because all that mattered as his own breathing slowed and matched that rhythm perfectly was that he was in love with Tenzō. And he could get used to that, too. 

* * *

 

Tenzō woke all at once, as he typically did, eyelashes flapping open. A remnant of Root training. He didn’t need an alarm clock anymore, always waking at exactly the same time, six a.m. on the dot. He tipped sideways, swinging his feet off the bed and sitting straight. He was startled to see Kakashi there, having forgotten that he’d stayed the night. He lay on his stomach, arms wrapped aggressively around his pillow. He’d thrashed the blanket away. His bare back was a welcome sight. 

The tension in Kakashi’s eyes was gone and his mouth was parted slightly. The pillow was damp with drool. Tenzō shook his head, silently laughing. It was an excellent start to the day. 

He stood and went to the kitchen, setting about his morning routine without a sound. He knew every creaky portion of the floor. He was careful to avoid letting the cupboard hinges creak as he found his can of instant coffee. He took his coffee to the back porch and watched the sun come up, admiring the result of his Kakashi-fueled inspiration. It was a moment of renewal, reminding himself of what was important and what was not. He was grateful to have Kakashi over for the weekend. He was delighted, in fact, that Kakashi had thought of him first with his apartment uninhabitable for the weekend. His love for the Mokuton was back in full swing. 

Tenzō was extra careful not to wake him as he reentered his modest residence. He quietly gathered his things and stepped out the front door. He turned the handle, pulled it carefully closed, and slowly let the knob settle back into place. Then he tugged his Anbu mask down and left. 

There was a new Hokage.


	14. Good Souls

The opening and closing of the door awakened Kakashi. He scrubbed the drool off his face and blinked as the damp pillow came into focus. “Are you still asleep?” Tenzō asked, amused. 

“Still?” Kakashi echoed fuzzily. “Why? What time is it?” 

“Almost five,” he replied. “I just got back.”

“Then I guess so.” Kakashi rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. Slowly, memories drifted back. He remembered his train of thought before he’d gone to sleep. Remembered Tenzō’s bare back as he’d fallen asleep. He peeked at his friend from beneath his arm and caught him staring. Kakashi smirked. Evidence to his theory that Tenzō had an infatuation. He’d be testing that theory all day—though he had planned for the day to be a bit longer. Oh well. 

“You clearly needed the sleep,” Tenzō commented. 

Kakashi nodded. “Haven’t been sleeping lately.”

“Well I’d ask if you slept well, but…” 

Kakashi grinned. Tenzō’s facial expression softened, became affectionate. Through a phenomenal amount of willpower, Kakashi managed to keep the grin on his face, but the wind left his lungs at the peaceful serenity on Tenzō’s face. If that wasn’t an expression of fond adoration, Kakashi had never seen one before. _This is happening,_ he realized. 

 _Don’t hesitate,_ his father had taught him when he was younger. When an opening presented itself, the best way to achieve success was to keep the pressure on. As long as he had Tenzō unbalanced, better keep the force applied. He threw the blanket off his lower half and stood. He stretched lithe muscles and yawned noisily, closing his eyes. At the end of it, his eyes flew open, and he caught Tenzō staring again, his expression carefully blank. _Mm hmm,_ he acknowledged. _There it is again._ “I suppose you’re probably hungry,” Kakashi suggested casually.

“Starved.”

He nodded and shuffled to the kitchen. “I’ll make breakfast.” Tenzō laughed. Kakashi smiled, facing the refrigerator. “Er, I mean dinner.” Tenzō laughed again. Kakashi grinned. Had he ever felt true happiness like this? His heart danced a series of jigs in his chest. He was fairly certain someone was in love with him. Someone who could probably understand every issue he’d ever had. Someone he didn’t have to explain himself to, who already understood shinobi, Anbu, war, death, and duty. Someone who saw the value in some gods-damned peace and quiet.

Kakashi placed a wrapped up piece of cake on the table as Tenzō took one of the chairs. “Cake before dinner?” Tenzō wondered aloud. 

Kakashi shrugged. “You’re an adult. Do you not want cake?” He waited, his expression totally serious.

Tenzō stared back. Blinked. Then in a voice equally as grave as Kakashi’s expression, he responded. “When do I not want cake?” His eyes went wide and scary. “If you take this cake away from me now…” he paused for dramatic effect, “I’ll kill you.”

It was Kakashi’s turn to laugh, long and loud. A moment later, Tenzō laughed, too. For reasons he didn’t quite grasp, the joke became funnier than it probably was, and he laughed until his sides hurt. It felt as if he hadn’t laughed in far too long, like every chuckle he might have employed had been saved up and released only now. If he’d doubted his feelings for Tenzō before, those misgivings were completely erased. He _wanted_ to be here. He’d stay as long as he was allowed and be grateful for the privilege. “Eat your cake then,” Kakashi muttered fondly, turning back to the counter to prep dinner and hide the smile that wasn't going away. 

“Thanks, I will.”

Another of those beautiful comfortable silences filled the kitchen, interrupted only by the clink of utensils and the sizzle of oil in the pan. Kakashi watched Tenzō watching him from the reflection off the glass of the kitchen window. Tenzō didn’t look anywhere else. He only watched Kakashi. “So,” he inquired at last as he plated the food. “Where did you go today, Tenzō?”

“Well since _someone_ quit Hokage, I had to report.”

“Ah. I see.” Whenever a new Hokage was chosen, it was Anbu gospel for every operative to report directly to the Hokage one-on-one to reveal his or her identity. Naruto knew Tenzō as Yamato. Tenzō had to go to report to Naruto as Tenzō, as it was legally his name. “How did it go?”

Tenzō grinned. “You should have seen his face.”

Kakashi grinned back. He could imagine. Tenzō froze, watching him. Right, the mask, Kakashi remembered. The first time he’d removed it, Tenzō had completely forgotten to be alive for several minutes. His mother _did_ always say he had a pretty smile. Was that it, then? Only one way to find out. “Tenzō, you’re staring.”

“Am I?” His eyes dropped back to his food.

 _Check_. “You were. Am I that attractive?” 

Tenzō’s face reddened, all the way to the ears. _Checkmate._ Kakashi ate up every moment of him trying to come up with a proper response. Because ‘no’ would have been rude. ‘Yes' would have been too telling. And Tenzō was far too unbalanced to come up with the correct response for someone who didn’t romantically appreciate his face, which would have been some kind of masculine joke. Perhaps, “Please, not even your mother would find your face attractive.” Tenzō’s reaction was an abysmal failure. 

And he _knew_ it, too. He did come up with a response, way, wayyy too late. His voice was silky soft when he responded with, “Sorry, it’s just that… you have sauce on your face. Right there.” He brushed at the corner of his own mouth, his face pulled tight with worry. In that moment, he proved what Kakashi had suspected: Tenzō had loved him for a _long_ time and was now terrified that revealing so had cost him a friendship.

And Kakashi knew how rare a good friendship was, for one such as them. 

Kakashi’s response time was perfect, however. He swiped at the spot, then stared at his hand. “Did I get it?” 

Tenzō nodded without looking and poked at his food. He didn’t take another bite for a long, long time. 

Kakashi didn’t push again. He’d just learned everything he needed to know. Given enough time away from the incident, Tenzō relaxed, too. Likely, he thought he’d covered it up sufficiently.

He hadn’t. 

The moment he finished with his dinner, Tenzō excused himself and retreated to the back porch. Before the door had closed, Kakashi was grinning like an idiot. 

First, he’d need to clean up after dinner.

Then, they had some talking to do.


	15. You Never Get What You Deserve

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Tenzō squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled a heavy, anguished sigh. He’d had the moment to confess, and he’d failed it miserably. Kakashi was there— _right there!_ —asking him a question with a simple truth. He could have admitted it. What was the worst that could happen?

And oh gods, what was the _best?_

And he’d failed it. In that moment, as he’d waited patiently for an answer to an obvious jest, Tenzō had panicked. He’d been so worried that his emotions were written plainly upon his face. How long had it taken him to answer?Of all the things in the world to be inept about, why this one? 

Perhaps letting Kakashi stay was a bad idea, after all. But there was no way he could ask him to leave now, especially not when what he really wanted was for him to stay. “I’m doomed,” he grumbled aloud. 

He walked to the railing of the porch and looked out, divining solace from the flowers he’d created. Only a couple of days ago, he’d sat in this very spot and made peace with himself. He’d been so certain of the fact that nothing else mattered but Kakashi’s presence in his life. But he was content to just be allowed in his life. Even just that much was enough. If confessing his feelings might distance one from the other, he couldn’t risk it. 

“Doomed,” he repeated again. 

“Tenzō.” His voice was soft, but assertive. 

He shut his eyes again briefly. He hadn’t even heard the door open. He turned, bracing himself against the rail. Kakashi leaned in the doorway, silhouetted in the darkness against the fluorescent bulb of the kitchen beyond. He crossed one leg over the other. So casual. So calm. He envied that. “Senpai,” he responded, proud of how his voice didn’t shake. 

“What did you see in the dream?” His voice cut the night and silenced everything else.

Tenzō’s heart stalled in his chest. His breath died in his lungs. Terrified, absolutely stricken, thinking that this was the end of a friendship. Tenzō knew, then, that he’d frozen too long answering the question about Kakashi’s face. His friend had figured it out. This was the part where he decided they couldn’t be friends anymore. He opened his mouth to tell him it was okay if he wanted to leave. No hard feelings. Force a fake smile to make Root proud and wait until Kakashi left to never smile again. 

“What did you see?” he asked again, more urgently this time. 

“I—“ he swallowed, took a calmer breath. “I told you… I was—“

He moved, crossing the space between them. Tenzō shrank back against the rail, but there was nowhere to escape. Kakashi’s hands rose and cradled his face. “No more lies. Tenzō,” he whispered, his eyes intense with a need to know. “Was it me?”

He tried to answer. The words just weren’t happening. 

But Kakashi found an answer anyway. His eyes drifted to half mast, and the ghost of a smile pulled the dimples and made his lips twitch. Tenzō knew what was coming, but all he could do was take a deep breath and be ready for it. His eyes slid shut. He felt the space between them diminish, and then Kakashi’s lips brushed his, cautious and testing. He rested there, their lips only touching while Tenzō’s heart threatened to break its way out of his throat. 

Then Kakashi’s hand slid around the back of his neck and tugged his face closer. It made the moment more real, breaking through Tenzō’s panic. He realized with rising thrill that he was supposed to kiss back, so he did, drawing his hands away from the rail, hooking into Kakashi’s pockets and drawing him closer. Kakashi sighed. 

Tenzō poured his heart and soul into that kiss. He had a lot of unspoken words to make up for, for he’d failed to produce an audible response either time Kakashi had asked it of him, in the moments he’d needed to speak most. Eyes closed, he drew from his inspiration, for this man had become the fuel for everything wonderful in Tenzō’s life. Kakashi had initiated this kiss. It was the spark of ignition, a declaration of potential. If Tenzō wanted him to stay, he’d need to prove it. He poured himself forward, leaving the support and safety of the rail, leaning into Kakashi’s body, pressing himself against him every which way. He lured Kakashi’s tongue into his mouth and consumed. His fingers pressed into the hard muscles of his shoulders, kneading, encouraging. 

At last, Kakashi broke the kiss, setting his forehead upon his. Tenzō felt as if he’d done well. He smiled. Kakashi smiled back. “You were breaking apart. The world was ending. Why did you think of me?”

Tenzō would not let the words fail him this time. Time to be honest, and without omitting the important details. “I’ve only ever thought of you,” he confessed. 

Kakashi’s mouth slackened, emitting a soft, surprised sound. He looked away, licking his lips. Tenzō watched his face, looking for some sign of the effect he might have had. He’d never been so honest, nor direct. He’d blown his heart wide open. Never before had he ever been so vulnerable. 

When Kakashi turned back toward him, tears broke free of his eyes and leaked down his face. “I…” His voice caught. He scrubbed at the tears. “I’m flattered. Actually. I don’t really have a good enough response to that. That’s… it’s fucking beautiful, is what it is.” His arms flew wide and wrapped around Tenzō’s shoulders, holding him tightly. He crushed the air out of Tenzō’s lungs. That was okay, though. He didn’t need it anymore. He was fairly certain he could survive from now on from the _memory_ of that kiss alone. 

And then he got another one. A fiercer one. Kakashi kissed him as if his lips were his anchor to the living world. Pouring his heart and soul into it, as Tenzō had moments before. Tenzō’s mind went completely blank. His heart exploded in his chest, and though he gasped for breath he couldn’t find again, he found what he needed instead. 

When his mind finally settled down, his head was tipped over on Kakashi’s shoulder, and Kakashi’s was tipped over on his. Because nothing mattered at that point but that they were in love with one another, and not a damned thing from the rest of the world was even on their radar.


	16. Safe At Home

Silently, they went back inside. Side by side, they brushed their teeth, watching each other in the mirror. They took solo turns in the bathroom. Kakashi went first. Then he brushed past Tenzō. As the door shut, he tugged his shirt over his head. He stood in the center of Tenzō’s tiny cottage, his eyes drinking in the sight of the first place since he was a child that had ever felt like _home_. He _felt_ , an implausible number of emotions he never thought to feel. Things like comfort, peace, contentment, and love. He dropped his shirt in the middle of the floor and smirked, staring at it and wondering if Tenzō was the kind of guy who’d tell him to pick it up or not. 

Then he made his way back to the bathroom door as the toilet flushed. He squared his hands on both sides of the frame and leaned, waiting with his face right up to where the door closed. The faucet clicked on as he washed his hands. Then it clicked off. A moment later, the door opened and Tenzō startled to see his face too close to his. His wide eyes and sudden, involuntary smile harmonized with Kakashi's mischievous soul. Tenzō laughed. Kakashi's heart swelled and he grinned, then plunged his other hand in after him and gripped him by the shirt. He yanked Tenzō out of the bathroom and then thrust him back against the hallway. Then he flattened against him and kissed the hell out of him, caging him in with his elbows.

One hand fell to Tenzō’s waist, fumbled at the hem of his shirt, then coiled in the fabric. Tenzō’s back bowed away from the wall. Kakashi dragged the shirt up, relishing the warmth of his skin against his knuckles, watching with fascinated interest as his movements revealed pale, shivering skin and disciplined muscles. His lips tugged into a small smile, observing what he knew was many years of training as intense as his own. This man had bled for Konoha as much as Kakashi himself. 

The shirt was tossed aside.

The scars told the rest of the tale. He'd never considered how beautiful a body could be; this one was honed into weapon-like efficiency, hard as steel and finely formed, yet wrapped in soft skin. _The art of war,_ he mused, _lovely and yet dangerous._ Kakashi leaned against one elbow as his fingers attended to each puckered scar. Both of their gazes were drawn in similar fashion, following the train of thought, sharing in the memories. At each one, Tenzō explained. Kakashi’s fingertips traced jagged slashes along the ribs. Thin, white. “When the glass tanks broke,” Tenzō murmured. “In the laboratory.” Kakashi’s chest tightened. His palms brushed across his abdomen. Just left of his navel was a diamond shaped scar, misshapen and poorly healed. “Solo mission to Rain,” Tenzō revealed. “Kunai. Poisoned. I had an antidote, but it was past expiration and weak.” 

Kakashi’s eyes drifted away, found the scars on his arms. His first thought nearly broke his heart, for they looked like the track marks of a drug addiction. But Tenzō’s haunted voice banished the concern and replaced it with a different kind of worry. “Blood and tissue samples. And these,” he added, tracing his fingers across more scars, “where they injected all the different chemicals.” He turned his face aside. “These, too.” He turned further and tilted his chin, revealing scar tissue on the nape of his bare neck. “And that.”

Kakashi fought back more tears. “How did you do it?” he whispered, brushing the pads of his fingers over the ugly scars. 

He turned back toward him with a shrug, found it in himself to smile. “Probably the same way you did.”

“I didn’t go through what you did,” he said with a slow shake of his head. 

“Your scars aren’t painted on your skin,” Tenzō said. “But I think that yours might be harder to bear.” He took his turn tracing scars, starting with the easy one, at Kakashi's eye. 

“Obviously,” Kakashi said. “That’s where the Sharingan was implanted. My teammate was dying and gave it to me. As a late promotion present when I became a jounin.”

“Obito,” Tenzō murmured, remembering.

“Obito,” he confirmed. “And Rin, my other teammate. She performed the procedure, and healed me after.” His breath caught. It was harder to talk about than he’d anticipated, actually. But after the first admission, he breathed a bit easier.

He shuddered as Tenzō’s fingers found the many holes in his shoulder. “Kunai and shuriken.” He pointed to each in turn. “Practicing accident, when I was five. And this, from a mission to Stone when I was a chunin. These, from Anbu. I was tasked with investigating a rogue ninja from the Leaf. There was only supposed to be one. There were four. I was lucky to get out of there with only these three holes.” 

His hand closed over Tenzō’s. He took a deep breath, moved his hand over his heart. My mother died when I was four. It’s when I started hiding my smile. I didn’t want anyone else to see it if she couldn’t.” His hand tightened over Tenzō’s. “My father died four years later. The story goes that he chose his comrades over a mission directive, fell into a depression and committed suicide. The truth is…” He brushed a thumb over Tenzō’s knuckle. “I’ve never told anyone this, but… my father wasn’t the same after my mother died. He had a drinking problem. The sorrow didn’t help. We fought a lot. I didn’t know any better. I think he drove himself crazy trying to keep me happy. I said a lot of mean things. He said he saw my mother on that mission. I can only imagine what really happened.” 

He took a deep, shuddering breath before he continued. “I was a bad teammate. It’s my fault Obito ended up the way he did. And even if Rin did it to herself, I still blame myself. It’s my fault—“ He was silenced as Tenzō’s lips crashed into his. 

“No,” Tenzō said against his lips. 

Kakashi grinned. 

Tenzō felt it. “What?”

“This all started because Ibiki told me to just start saying 'No' to everyone. So I shirked my duties as Hokage and dumped the Hat on Naruto’s head. I was just wondering if he gave you the same advice.”

“No.” It made them both laugh. It became a game. “You still going home after the weekend?”

“No. Do you think my face is attractive?”

Tenzō smirked. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I learned it from you. Is your apartment _really_ infested with spiders?”

His lips twitched. “No. Is there room enough in that bed for two?”

He looked down and smiled. “No." He paused. "Want to sleep in it anyway?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

* * *

 

There are hundreds of lovely words to capture moments like these. Words used to convey the yammering of hearts entwined, limbs entangled, passions shared by two people that have found each other at last. Beautiful, provoking words that reach into the heart and coax an echo of such a moment, to let one share in true joy found at the end of a long, difficult road. And after a tale such as this, such words would be well-earned and appreciated by the eyes of a reader such as you. And, too, they would be sweet to write for a writer such as me. It is only natural that reader and writer both would want to share in that sense of celebration, the victory of life and of love. 

To sigh with a romantic heart how the generic default of intrinsic gray behind the eyelids can be replaced by too many colors to name, heart and eyes wide open. 

But Kakashi and Tenzō have suffered the attentions of the unworthy other long enough. Their lives, dissected and put upon display. Moments such as this one are private. They are not for us to know. They are not for us to _share_. And I think, in your heart, you know that. Though it would be sweet to read how they spent the first of many nights together mapping joy in passionate panic, Kakashi and Tenzō politely declined.

Well, Tenzō politely declined. Kakashi didn't.

"Because it's none of your damned business, that's why."

And the door is slammed in all our faces.

* * *

 

**THE END**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I beg for a review here. But instead I'm going to ask for something else.
> 
> If you liked this, please thank DreamingDragon for this story, not me. Without her, this story would never exist. She begged and flattered me into writing it, and she knows quite well it pushes my comfort zone.
> 
> That said, this is one of the most gorgeous stories I've ever written, so I, too, have her to thank for that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


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